


Enterprise: The Rediscovered Logs

by Kotik



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Humor, Light Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 84,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kotik/pseuds/Kotik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having written many stories starting late in the TV series, I got tired of jumping through hoops to incorporate all the writing abominations, so I started to write my own version from the start.</p><p>This is the extended (adult) version of the same story on ff.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eireann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eireann/gifts).



_I've been an Enterprise fanfic writer for about 5 years now and those, who know my stories, will remember that most of them are located towards the end of the series, often starting at the time of "Bound" or after the events of "Terra Prime"._

_For the shipping heart that is convenient, because you can start with an already establish bond and a planet Vulcan that's not ruled by blithering idiots, but other than that it is a right pain in the backside. For the best part of the first two seasons the writing was (pardon my French) a monumental clusterfuck and it got only marginally better later on. The fourth season then was a marked improvement, but was soured by that unspeakable contrived angst-spectacle around Trip and T'Pol._

_Archer was portrayed as someone, who should be doing just about everything, but not commanding a star ship. The Vulcans were militaristic fools, who mistook logic for abandoning common sense by blindly following a government that was so corrupt they almost started to bribe themselves. T'Pol turning drug addict, Archer sending away a rapist unpunished, everyone was speaking English by episode seven, that's just a short list of abominations that one has to carry through if starting late into the series, endlessly jumping through hoops to incorporate the bad writing earlier on._

_For just about every story that doesn't aim at being an angst-fest you have to write a chapter at some point during which T'Pol has to explain, what in the name of all that's holy was going on in her head when she decided to do drugs. With this project I'm aiming at writing my idea of Enterprise regardless of the TV series, in a universe in which we won't meet a new hostile of the day in every chapter, where Starfleet doesn't just send them on their merry ways with no support, no stations to turn to and that doesn't retro-actively diminish the novelty-factor of Kirk's Enterprise._

_Some key moments from the TV series will still feature here, but in different circumstances._

_Have fun everybody._

 


	2. The Consultant

Shivering slightly as the cold air of the night chilled her sensitive skin, she closed her faux leather jacket to suppress the unbidden reaction of her body to the cool temperatures. This was the distinct downside of wearing human clothes – they did not possess the thermal lining of the Vulcan 'cat suits', as the Humans referred to the garment. The logic of naming the apparel after an animal that hid its small build behind fur in a way that made it look much sturdier, did most certainly elude her. Besides the attire did the exact opposite.

This was why she did not wear it when visiting places that hosted many humans engaging in recreational activities. Vulcans did not pay attention to superficial attributes like the shape of their bodies, which was after all only a shell for one's  _katra_. For humans apparently it did matter, because the younger specimens eagerly worked on the configuration of their outer shells, some even having parts of their body surgically optimized for appearance. Since human males did not encounter any condition like the  _plak-tow_ , evidently evolution had programmed human males to react to visual stimuli and human females with the ability to provide it through their appearance.

Obviously her own appearance fit into Earth's more preferred profiles and as a result she received an inordinate amount of scrutiny from human males. The decision to purchase human clothing that did not emphasize her physique as much as the Vulcan attire had been made easier by a young human female, whom she had met by chance when she was visiting a human shop to procure apparel. The young human had introduced herself as Hoshi Sato and had provided advice on which clothing would make her less noticeable. What she remembered most about her unexpected guide was that she spoke Vulcan without a discernible accent. Notably, while Ms. Sato was skilled at selecting clothing, she had selected her own clothing which appeared to have been crafted during severe fabric shortages.

She regretted having to wait until nightfall before venturing out into the human city. Her temperature problem would have been less severe during the day, but openly expressing interest in getting to know human culture had become a hazardous undertaking since Administrator V'Las had come to power. Why so many Vulcans preferred to be ignorant of the fact that the new government's decisions often lacked logic was hard to understand. Many of them were most likely associated with V'Las's clan and therefore accepted his erratic leadership for political or personal gain – a mindset that a small number of years ago would have been considered illogical and unseemly.

Almost weekly, Vulcans were recalled home, their position at the Earth Embassy filled with new arrivals that either belonged to clan  _dvinsu ekon-ak_  or wished to belong to it, trying to ingratiate themselves with the ruling clan through servitude and arranged marriages. Forcing down the momentary disgust at such a disagreeable weakness of character, she continued her way back to the Vulcan compound.

Apparently it was now her turn to be recalled. Soval had alerted her and suggested a clandestine meeting at United Earth Starfleet's headquarters under the guise of consultations about the launch of the first warp five capable human vessel. The humans had estimated that the ship would be ready for trials in a month's time. Much to her and Soval's indignation, the High Command had made it known that they wished the launch to be delayed by as much time as possible without alerting the humans. These orders were outrageous.

After carefully observing her surroundings she entered the ambassador's office using his private door, which allowed her to remain unseen by any of the compound's denizens, who might feel inclined to report her illicit excursions..

=/\=

"Won't you at least think about my offer, Malcolm?"

Malcolm Reed eyed the man with suspicion. He would have thought that Harris got the clue about his intention to end his career as a pet assassin by his request to be transferred out of the section and into the fleet. And as if that wasn't a clear enough hint, the fact that he was willing to accept a de-facto demotion to Lieutenant should have been a dead give-away as the fleet had all but retired the rank of Lieutenant-Commander. Sometimes Harris was just too bloody thick or just impertinent. Who could know with this man.

"I had assumed that I have made my intention abundantly clear, Captain, Sir," Malcolm said and put an annoyed emphasis on the man's official rank.

"We've just had Falkner walk out and now you. How can I work without the best men I have?"

He didn't buy the flattery. "With all due respect, Sir; If you would have used your 'best men' for something other than exterminating people like flies for almost two years now, maybe we would both still be here. We used to be an organization that worked for the good of Earth. Now we're just like the bloody  _Camorra_ , minus the ransom demands. You've been ordering assassinations a dozen for a sixpence. That's no longer the section I signed up for."

"You know that certain things are necessary," Harris insisted cryptically and Malcolm felt like socking the man.

"People like you, Sir are responsible for the god-awful image we have with the Vulcans. Every other week a runabout ploughs into the undergrowth and hover cars have developed rather worrying explosive tendencies. The Vulcans can smell a flea's fart from a mile away and hear it, too. Did you really expect them not to notice? Now the Vulcans require Starfleet to test every new device or vessel repeatedly before allowing it into service."

"Well, I guess I can't change your mind," Harris sighed theatrically. Malcolm suppressed a snort. How much more pathetic pleading would he have to listen to before being dismissed?

=/\=

Maxwell Forrest moved Soval's small device from his pocket to his hand and surreptitiously activated it with his palm. Calmly he looked at the models of various current and retired ship designs that were lined up in the glass case on the wall. When he felt the pulsations of the device, he slowly moved along until the vibrations started getting weaker again.

 _No doubt, Tos really isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer,_ he thought to himself in reference to Soval's slippery deputy ambassador, who couldn't have his arrogant nose farther up V'Las' rear-end if he were a sniffer dog for hemorrhoids.

 _You'd think he'd get tired of this,_ Maxwell cackled mentally as he removed the small listening device attached to the back of the model of the  _Grand Canyon_ , the first ship he had served on as a fresh-faced ensign.

 _Let our recycler sing you the song of our people,_ he mused as he dropped the little device into the chute.

Only moments later he saw Soval approach with a female in tow – a very attractive female.

"Maxwell," Soval said in way of greeting and Maxwell answered in kind. "Was your harvest bountiful?"

"Same old," Maxwell said and couldn't suppress a chuckle. "He didn't even bother to look for a different hiding place."

"It is fortunate that Tos appears to be the quadrant's most inept operative," Soval delivered dead-pan and both Soval and his female companion raised their eyebrows in unison, which Maxwell assumed meant, that like the ambassador she was amused.

"May I introduce – Subcommander T'Pol," Soval explained with a nod at the woman. "I have mentioned her before."

"Indeed you have," Maxwell replied and exchanged nods with her, before directing his attention back to Soval. "So what did the toads in  _Shi'Kahr_  come up with this time?"

"T'Pol has been recalled. The reasons are of no concern. What is of concern is that she will most likely be persecuted."

"If you mean to ask for asylum," Maxwell interrupted before the Ambassador could voice such a request.

"Not at all, Admiral," Soval denied much to the admiral's relief. "I would not wish to bring you into such a precarious political situation. But I wish to nominate her for the Consultant role you suggested. It would be most helpful if she was selected."

"How would that help?" Maxwell asked back. "If they want to take her away from Earth and back under their thumb, the High Command wouldn't possibly agree to that."

"On the contrary," Soval said and handed over a PADD.

Maxwell thumbed through the translation of a Vulcan directive in which Soval was instructed to get Subcommander T'Pol installed as an operative on the experimental human vessel. After exhausting all options to delay the launch of the vessel, he was to exert influence on Starfleet, so that the vessel's first long-distance test flight would be one to Vulcan, where Subcommander T'Pol would be exchanged for a surgically altered operative.

 _Stalin had nothing on that man,_ Maxwell thought with disgust. Clandestine reports stated that being 'exchanged' was just a euphemism for replacing someone with a surgically prepared doppelgänger and disposing of the original by termination or exile to some barely hospitable remote outpost.  _Bet that doesn't come from Surak's writings,_ he seethed to himself.

"I hope you have a plan to avoid the last part?" he asked the ambassador.

"Sadly, we will have to rely on the ingenuity of your 'highly qualified crew'," Soval confessed.

"That's a tall order, but if anyone can do something about it, it's this lot. Even though, if your crew evaluation is anything to go by we're sending out a bunch of ne'er do goods and dimwits. They are less than pleased with you."

"It was by necessity," the Vulcan explained. "I had to make them appear somewhat less competent to discourage the High Command from taking more disagreeable actions to keep humanity under their control. As long as they are convinced that the crew will fail in their endeavor to start a human presence in the grander inter-planetary community, they will hopefully abstain from anything more drastic. Once the ship has been launched their options will be more limited."

"Well, it certainly helped to keep up your image of a cranky old Vulcan," Maxwell said with a grin. "I'm not sure I could deliberately make myself unpopular like that."

"Another unfortunately necessary precaution," Soval explained and the admiral got the distinct impression that this revelation was for the benefit of the young Subcommander. "My position in the clan, if revealed, would make me a target of the High Command. As long as they are convinced of my alleged negative preconception about humanity I can safely continue my work here. You will surely understand the ramifications."

"Oh, I do," Maxwell agreed, trying not to imagine, in too much detail, having to work with Tos."

"I do however have one justified doubt about a member of your proposed crew," Soval said and Maxwell knew instantly, who that would be.

"Let me guess – Commander Charles Anthony Tucker III."

"Indeed," Soval confirmed. "His personality does not strike me as someone fit for the position of Chief Engineer on an experimental vessel."

"That particular personality is carefully crafted," the admiral explained. "Trip Tucker is one of the sharpest minds we have in the Corps of Engineering. That ship wouldn't be halfway finished if it wasn't for his ingenuity. Trust me, if or when the Enterprise crew comes up with a plan to keep your Subcommander here out of the clutches of the High Command, there is an extremely high chance that it will have been his idea."

"Where then is the logic of hiding one's own competence?" the young woman spoke up for the first time. Would it not be an obstacle to his professional advancement?"

"That is, because he is exactly where he wants to be. If it was up to the top brass, he would be the youngest Captain in Starfleet and head a team in R&D. But by keeping up his drawl and his 'explosive' character, he makes sure he's not on top of anyone's promotion list."

"Most peculiar," Soval stated.

=/\=

With his hands flying over the navigation console of Starfleet's state-of-the-art simulator, Cadet Travis Mayweather directed the virtual vessel through an equally virtual asteroid field. He had flown such manoeuvres since he was old enough to look over the console, but this wasn't a warp two cargo barge, but the simulated pride of Starfleet – the warp 5 ship, NX-01  _Enterprise_.

If he messed that one up and leave a mark on the hull, he wouldn't be asked to paint them over at the next stop - he would fail his exam and the shiny new Ensign-pips would remain a distant dream. Nothing would be worse than proving his older brother Paul right, who saw his wish to become a Starfleet officer as some sort of betrayal. At least his parents had encouraged him and defended him against the self-righteous reproaches of his sibling.

"Very well, Cadet," the instructor acknowledged the successful exit from the Asteroid field. "And now we make a U-turn and do the same in a nebula with broken impulse engines."

"Lost impulse, switching to maneuvering thrusters," Travis reported dutifully to the non-existent Captain and started to turn the behemoth.

 _This is it,_ Travis thought.  _I'm going for the alpha seat._ He knew very well that this test was not part of the repertoire to pass the normal flying exam. They were testing skills far beyond his StarFleet training, but, he grinned, it was something that every boomer had done at least once in his life when running from Nausicaans or Orion Marauders. They were testing his adequacy for alpha-shift duty.

=/\=

She sat down in her quarters in the Vulcan compound and inserted the data disk she had received from Ambassador Soval into a secured PADD. His warning to abstain from reading it on any device that was connected to the High Command controlled network hinted that the contents were not meant to be discovered by the authorities.

When she accessed the storage chip, she was prompted to enter the security code of the house  _T'Klaas_  – a key that was usually only applied to intra-family communication originating directly from her Eldest Mother. Very few possessed the clearance to access such information.

 _Daughter of the House of_ T'Klaas _,_

 _The latest developments on Vulcan are reason for great concern. Several members of our house and the wider clan have been apprehended on fabricated charges and the whole house is in danger. As the only member of the house, who will come of childbearing age in the next thirty cycles of_ T'Kuth _it is of utmost importance that your life is preserved._

_The High Command has ordered to recall you, ostensibly to allow you the necessary time to enter marriage. The High Command of course does know that your childhood betrothed claimed another female as his mate and has meanwhile survived the blood fever twice using her help. Lamentably for the children, the authorities refuse to recognize their union on the ground of their inability to bond. That they cannot, because the High Command has outlawed mind-melds, including the ritual bonding-melds is a fact that is of course conveniently omitted._

_Save yourself, daughter of our house! I have instructed Soval to seek for you to find shelter among Humans. They might appear immature and volatile, but that is merely what the new administration wants Vulcans to believe._

_I have included the log recordings of your father. Contrary to what the High Command believes, he is not deceased. He has spent the last two cycles in hiding. Your mother has joined him after the latest purges. I have never approved of his peculiar habit to record spoken logs of his life, but in the current situation, the recordings might help to secure your continued well-being._

The recording ended and T'Pol scrambled the contents of the transmission using an enhanced version of her retired  _V'Shar_  code. Putting the PADD away, she raised the room temperature by 4 degrees and undressed for a shower. One of the few creature comforts available to her was that she was accommodated in the part of the complex that had not been newly built, but was a refurbished building inhabited by Humans before adding it as a means of additional housing to the Embassy. As a result of that it featured a human water based shower instead of the Vulcan sonic showers.

Letting the hot water and the resulting steam engulf her body, she started to process the transmission from the Eldest Mother. The house  _T'Klass_ , the second most important beside the house  _Suurok_  within clan  _Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n_ , was being persecuted by the High Command and to add to her bewilderment, she had learned that her esteemed father V'Nur, whom she had believed dead for the last half decade was apparently alive and in hiding.

It was likely that this evening's meditation would take additional time.

 


	3. Let's Meet & Greet

Jonathan Archer left the posh house in one of the ritzier parts of San Francisco feeling morose. Becoming a Starfleet Captain had been a life-long dream, ever since he had started playing with starship models. But the price was excruciating. Minutes ago Erika and he had come to the conclusion that their relationship was no longer sustainable.

Truth be told; It was her doing the reasoning, while he fought tooth and nails not to cry and to keep up the façade of agreeing with her. In reality he just wanted to run, hide somewhere and pity himself while sobbing into his beer. But that was of course way too unseemly for the son of Henry Archer, who had finally been cleared for taking command of the first vessel propelled by his late father's engine.

There were times during which he thought, the thing would never fly. If it wasn't for A.G.'s help to steal the NX-Beta and Trip's genius to bring the early engine prototype through all the additional Vulcan prescribed tests after A.G had blown up NX-Alpha, the engine would still wait to break the warp three barrier. Without Maxwell Forrest keeping him out of the clutches of Starfleet's terriers, like Admiral Black, he would not be looking at his first command now. Instead, he would probably be on a holiday resort for cockroaches in a Penal Colony on some of the Alpha Centauri outposts.

But it had cost him the relationship with Erika. He was now a Captain and she remained a Commander, which could lead to problems with the fuddy-duddys at Starfleet Command, all because of the stupid no-fraternization regulations. As if grown people weren't able to keep private and duty-related things separated – this wasn't High school. Loudest among the defenders of the no-frat policy was of course Black, who was so damn conservative; it was a minor miracle that he used PADDs instead of parchment scrolls and carrier-pigeons.

He took his communicator out of his pocket and flipped it open a bit more forcefully than absolutely necessary. A chirp announced that the device had connected to the pre-programmed code. His conversation partner announced his name as a greeting.

"Hi Trip, it's Jon. Do you have an hour or two?" he said, looking around if any people would end up unwilling eavesdroppers.

"Sure. You don't sound like you're too well. Everything ok?"

"Let's say I could use a beer or twelve. Care to share some?" he asked back, changing direction towards Trip's Starfleet provided home, which was not too far.

"Every time, where are you? Need me to pick you up?"

"Not necessary Trip, I'm in the area. Be there in fifteen."

=/\=

 _Not only do they bust my sorry arse_ _back_ _to Lieutenant,_ Malcolm thought.  _No, my very first task as a newly-minted crew member of a ship that isn't even properly nailed together yet is to provide a taxi service from Brazil for an Ensign. She does look awfully nice though._  He looked at the PADD with the service record again. Her face was perfect in every single way. Having grown up in Malaysia he had a preference for cute Asian women.

The last thought brought him back to the grim reality though. No matter how gorgeous she was, the difference in rank automatically put her off-limits and it was academic anyway. Describing his success with the females of the species as less than stellar would be a ridiculous understatement. Scoring a shag or two here and there wasn't the problem. All it took was to hint nebulously that he was some sort of secret operative – that got every pair of knickers wet in a bloody hurry.

But as soon as the reality of dating an operative hit home, mainly the fact that he took off for weeks to kill someone to death, who had probably looked at Harris cross-eyed, it was usually over in an instant. The lady folk were just too damn demanding these days. They sought for a supermodel, who was good at house chores, didn't need sex anymore than once or twice a month and told them they're the most beautiful creature in the quadrant – even if they looked like a meat loaf.

Whatever happened to partners just making each other's life a bit more complete without expecting or even demanding the impossible from each other? He was rattled out of his mental ruminations by the com message from Manaus approach control, which cleared him to fly his shuttle on a straight-in approach course to Manaus Spaceport. That would save him at least half an hour and straight-in arrivals were usually parked close to the terminal, too.

=/\=

Trip woke up, feeling like he had been run over by a truck. Damn it all, it had certainly gotten late, but Jon had needed the talk with a good friend. That it was fueled by an entirely unsuitable amount of beer was a lamentable, but insignificant detail. The hangover was bad, but today would mainly consist of checking and re-checking the installation of EPS components, something he could do without speaking to people or being spoken to too much, so it wasn't all bad and Jon would spend most of his day touring the ship anyway, so what the hell, a guy can get sloshed once in a while, can't he.

"Morning," John grumbled and Trip had to bite his lip to avoid laughing at Jon's clumsy attempts to get off the couch, where he had crashed last night. "How bad are you feeling?"

"Manageable," Trip shot back. "But that's really a question that I should be asking  **you.** "

"I'll manage, too," Jon said. "Got a lot off my chest. Sorry for loading it all off on you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jon," Trip waved the sentiment off. "That's what friends are for. And you know I wouldn't miss a chance at having a really good excuse for a beer. Although it could have been at least half a dozen less."

"Roger that."

"Excited about the first day as the skipper?" Trip asked.

"Sort of; Anything you can tell me about the senior crew?"

"Pretty much the best of the best," Trip said. "Your XO is the groggy one you're looking at. Science is not decided yet, same goes for CMO. Security chief and tactical officer is a British guy called Reed, Lieutenant. He's apparently some sort of former spook. His service record can be summarized in one word: 'classified'."

"Great; really great."

"Don't moan just yet. The guy hits whatever he shoots at. Undefeated Academy shoot'n champion in every year he took part and on top of that in every weapon category. Some people from his team told me, his party piece was opening a bottle of beer from across the shooting range with single stun blast. "

"Ok, so he can shoot things," Jon admitted. "Is he available already?"

"Got his papers yesterday," Trip said and started to pour them some coffee to jump-start their battered bodies. "I've sent him to Brazil to pick up Hoshi Sato, the coms officer."

"She's some sort of language wunderkind. According to her academy file she learned no less that 32 languages in just the four years on the academy. Wrecked the curve in every class she attended. Still holds the point's records on math, cryptology, linguistics and xeno-linguistics exams. We got ourselves a little genius there."

"So, if I'm to believe that, Starfleet is fresh out of genii, because they will all be on my ship."

"You know what they say about genius and insanity…," Trip hinted vaguely, before remembering the biggest news. "Speaking of madness: Starfleet News."

It was good to hear Jon laugh.

"In about 4 hours," he explained looking at his watch. "You'll get a visit from a Subcommander T'Pol. She'll be stationed as a Consultant on the ship."

"Ok, now they do not only crank up the test plans at the last minute and wreck our schedule. Now they even want to put a damn spy on my ship? I'm not putting up with that. I'll have to talk to Max about that."

Trip waited silently for Jon's rant to be over. It didn't take a psycho-analyst to work out that Jon had some issues with Vulcans. He was pacing the living room, mumbling to himself. Jon seemed to have noticed his silence and looked back at him.

"You're not going to say anything?"

"Jon," Trip ventured carefully. "I think it's not that bad an idea. We're getting to places where not even the boomers have been yet. Unless we want to get out and smash into every asteroid there is, we need star charts from the Vulcans. I can't read them and I doubt you can."

"I've never even tried."

"See?" he continued. "It's only temporary, too. Our first LD test will be to Vulcan and back. We're supposed to drop her off at home. If Hoshi Sato is as good as they say, she'll have the charts translated by then."

"Guess we can manage," Jon admitted. "But how does she fit in with the crew?"

"There's nothing in the regulations that forbids assigning her temporarily as Science officer, is there? You cannot put her in the chain of Command, obviously, but she could handle the science console."

"I'll think about it after meeting her."

=/\=

The shortened approach into Manaus and the fact that some eager-to-please young petty officer had delivered the ground car directly to the landing spot meant that he was over two hours early and Ensign Sato had apparently left final preparations to leave until the last possible moment. Malcolm didn't like such tardiness. The rationale behind building a Starfleet Language Institute in the middle of the rain forest completely eluded him. The wooden shacks nestled together on a clearing were looking comfortable and well built, but they made the whole arrangement look more like one of those all-inclusive holiday resorts than a place where peoplem would learn languages. They might even have a pool if the nearby splashing noises were any indication.

"Ensign Hoshi Sato?" he called out while leaving the car and the answer came promptly from where he had heard the splashing noises. Walking into the direction the answer had come from, he arrived just in time to see a young, beautiful woman wade out of a small lake wearing the most outrageously skimpy bikini he'd ever seen.

 _A_ _dancer_ _would be charged with indecent exposure if she wore something like that on stage,_ Malcolm thought dumbfounded.

"You must be Lieutenant Reed then," she said walking over to the small blanket she had laid out. He was standing near the arrangement and took her offered hand, even though it was wet.

"I had not expected you this early," she added.

"Well so much is obvious," he said, slightly tongue-tied. He tried not to ogle her appearance too obviously. As if that sorry excuse for a bikini wasn't ridiculous enough, she dropped the top and toweled off her topless form as if she did that every day in front of a superior officer. With a trace of chagrin he realized that she must have noticed his perplexed look. He saw her standing before him with a lopsided grin and apparently completely oblivious to or unconcerned about the fact that she was treating him to a view that he wouldn't forget anytime soon.

"Don't tell me you're squeamish, too, Lieutenant," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Squeamish, Ensign?" he asked back, acting nonchalantly.

"Like the people around here," she said and put on a shirt.

Malcolm relaxed, now that the somewhat awkward moment was passed.

"Normally I wouldn't wear such a stupid thing," she said and let the waist band of the bottom piece snap back against her skin. Malcolm was worried that she would be dropping that next, but she gathered her few belongings and started walking slowly towards the shacks while continuing her explanation.

"When I started here a year ago, it didn't even enter my mind to wear anything for a bath, but then one of my pupils saw me and he was so scandalized he made the sign of the cross and started to pray. If you consider the fact that just 20 miles from here is an Awá-Guajá village, you'd think people wouldn't freak out by the sight of a naked woman.

"Well, it depends on what your pupil was praying for," Malcolm quipped. "It could have been a 'thank you god for that image'."

"Aww, Lieutenant," she replied with not very convincingly played abashment.

"I'll wait here," Malcolm said as they passed the ground car. "Please, call if you need help with the luggage."

"Not necessary, but thank you," she declined and sauntered away, leaving Malcolm behind to stare transfixed at her delicate derrière.

 _Blimey, she's a trip and a half,_ he thought.

=/\=

" _Audio Log Entry, index five-five-nine, recorded by Commander V'Nur of Vulcan."_

" _To my displeasure, due to the missing cycle of day and night, I have lost count of how many days I have now spent adrift in space in an escape pod. As a result of the unfortunate problem, I lack the necessary data to estimate how long I can continue to sustain my live. I am nearing the point at which I shall have to come to a decision of either terminating my life or risk a slow agonizing death by starvation and dehydration. The increasing rarity of picking up life-signs of my fellow crew members leads to the conclusion that some have already made this decision for themselves. Especially the younger ship mates are more likely to have starved to death already, as they lack the necessary knowledge to prolong their potential life-span by drifting into a trance regularly."_

" _Our last known position was in a region that is traversed by several trade routes. I therefore retain hope that the escape pod's signal is registered by a passing merchant or patrol vessel. I shall uphold my routine of regular narrated log entries. The Eldest Mother would most likely dismiss this practice as overly sentimental, maybe even emotional, but such reproaches do not concern me."_

" _Many fellow Vulcans have become solely concerned with upholding their conformity with the majority. They repress their emotions instead of processing them. An emotion of fear is caused for a reason. If one mechanically represses it he might miss the signs of danger, which caused it. Nothing is as contentment-inducing as dwelling for a moment on the emotions that touch my katra when I see my beloved wife or my beloved daughter. It is my dearest hope that I may one day reunite with them as their absence leaves my katra incomplete."_

A cold shiver alerted T'Pol to the fact that she was still unclothed and the environmental controls had started to throttle the temperature back to save energy. She had been so immersed in her father's log recordings that she had barely made it from under the sheets to sitting on the edge of her bunk. She was now close to being late – a most unusual tardiness. She grabbed a light bath robe and went straight to the bathroom for a shower.

=/\=

Captain Jonathan Archer was nearly finished reading his notes. Once in a while he looked up to see if all of the senior staff had arrived yet. Uncharacteristically it was Trip, who was not yet in the room. Even Lt. Reed, who had picked up Ensign Sato from Brazil and had only landed an hour ago, had made it to the conference room. Just as he was about to direct his attention back to the last paragraph, the door opened and a damp-haired Trip walked into the room.

"Sorry, Cap'n," he said. "A coolant conduit blew and I got it all over me. Trust me; that's a smell y'all don't want to sample, so I took a shower first."

"It's ok, Commander," Jon said calmly. "Welcome everybody to the first staff meeting – the first of a great many, I hope."

All eyes were on him and he checked the reaction of their Vulcan guest. There wasn't any – unless the raised eyebrow accounted for anything.

"Let me begin with the introductions. The man with a habit of taking coolant showers is Commander Charles Anthony Tucker III, our chief engineer and first officer. If the lights in your quarters don't work, nag him, not me."

John ignored Trips eye-roll with a benevolent grin and fixed his glance on the Vulcan. "Our Vulcan guest is Subcommander T'Pol, who will temporarily fill in the position of science officer. "

The Vulcan acknowledged her introduction with a nod.

"The British gentleman to my right is Lieutenant Malcolm Stuart Reed, our chief of security and the tactical officer and a damn fine marksman if I've been informed correctly."

The man also didn't give much more of a reaction than a curt nod.  _He must be fun at a party,_ Jon thought.

"The young lady next to him is Ensign Hoshi Sato, our communications officer and – as I'm told – humanity's best xeno-linguist."

He smiled about the slight blush on her cheeks. She looked quite young for an officer.

"And last but not least, as of four hours ago, Ensign Travis LeVar Maywheather, our chief helmsman – a pilot with a flogging waiting for him, because he beat the pants off my over 20 year old flight test record."

John joined in the light amusement around the table. Well, all but Reed and the subcommander were amused. These two seemed to try to out-Vulcan each other.

"I don't want to make it much longer than that to give you all time to settle in. We are entering the final phase of construction, so you'll spend the next weeks getting your departments ready. Subcommander, since your position is temporary, it would help if you worked closely with your second in command."

"Of course, Captain."

"Very well, dismissed."

He watched the officers file out of the room.

This Vulcan Subcommander was an enigma. She was like every Vulcan he'd ever met – aloof, taciturn and rigid. But somehow she didn't project the usual aura of arrogance. It almost seemed as if she actually wanted to be where she was.

And she was pretty; she was definitely pretty.

 


	4. A Helping Hand

Jon was seriously considering asking the quartermaster to make a sign that read 'do not salute me'. He could wear it around his neck. All he wanted was to tour Earth's first Warp 5 ship. He knew of course that protocol and regulations demanded that noncoms salute before an officer, but it was patently impractical, especially on a ship in the final stage of completion.

There were toolboxes, measuring equipment and ladders everywhere and people hurriedly climbing down the ladder, just to stand at attention for the moment he passed them was simply ridiculous. It was bordering on the dangerous actually. He would deal with that in a first standing order. It was more than enough to acknowledge his existence with a nod and only if they were on the same altitude.

That young engineering crewman, who had jumped off the ladder and botched the landing could have seriously injured herself if it wasn't for the fact that she had practically landed in his arms. It had taken him quite some time to convince her that she wasn't going to be spaced for her 'improper conduct'. He knew of course that his reputation preceded him – that was the disadvantage of carrying the name Archer – but he didn't like the hero worship. He hadn't done a single thing yet as a Captain that would warrant any fawning over. He directed his thoughts back to  _Enterprise_.

It sure was an impressive ship. There were loose ends to tie up everywhere, but the sheer size of it was a clear sign that humanity was ready to make the next step. She might be looking small in comparison to some of the Vulcan cruisers, but the pointy eared know-it-alls had a century or two of a head start. For Earth this was a monumental achievement. The Vulcans had more than once tried to offer a technology transfer, but thankfully Starfleet had resisted the temptation, as that would have meant more Vulcan influence and more Vulcan nannying. And that was something they needed least of all.

Every single bit on this ship was designed, developed and manufactured by humans. And the man mostly responsible for keeping this going was Trip. He had walked the corridors and laboratories for three hours now and he had encountered Trip no less than five times in different areas of the ship. That man was simply always on the move. One time he explained welding techniques to a young crewman, the next time he could be seen instructing one of his engineers on the finer points of calibrating the flow regulators of an EPS conduit.

He made a mental note to invite Trip to a chat and a game of water polo the next days. That man needed to wind down a bit. As the ranking officer until Starfleet could finally come to a decision whether A.G. or him would be the skipper, Trip had overseen most of the recruiting, so there was a lot he had to pick his buddy's brain about.

He saw Subcommander T'Pol coming out of what would be one of the science labs, if he remembered the deck plan right.

"One minute please, Subcommander," he called out. He saw the Vulcan stop. She acknowledged his request with a wordless nod.

"Care to join me for a few meters?" he asked and indicated the direction in which he planned to continue.

"Of course, Captain."

"I was wondering if the Vulcan compound had any medic to spare, who has experience with both Vulcan and human physiology," he asked.

"May I ask why you would wish for a Vulcan medical officer?" she asked back and there was that raised eyebrow again. "I got the impression that you were not too satisfied with Vulcan influence on your mission."

"You are right about that," he admitted. "But since your people aren't very forthcoming with details about – well anything – there is no human medic qualified enough to treat Vulcans. Even though you are only assigned to us temporarily, I will not leave space dock until we have a chief medical officer, who can treat you as well as the rest of the crew."

He spared her a sideways glance. She walked beside him, steps perfectly synchronized with her hands clasped behind her back. He could see that she gave his proposal some thought.

"Your consideration honors you, Captain. I believe there is another option that may be more agreeable to you. There is an Interspecies Medical Exchange, organized by the Vulcan Academy of Science. As part of that operation there are several medics working on Earth. Most of them are Vulcan, but there is a Denobulan doctor, named Phlox."

"Denobulan?"

"A planet that has been visited by Earth freighters regularly over the past twenty years. They are a species that has no problem with open expression of emotions, which would make it easier for the crew to interact with him. They are highly advanced in medical and genetic science. A Denobulan medic is not taken seriously on their world if he doesn't hold at least five degrees."

"And this Phlox is here on Earth and willing to join the crew?" he asked her.

"If he is willing to join the crew is a question that only he can answer himself. I do know however that he is fascinated by humanity. I would venture to suspect that he would be unable to withstand the temptation of being part of humanity's first deep space mission."

"Thank you, Subcommander," he said with a smile as they came to stop in front of the turbo lift. "I don't want to keep you from your tasks any longer. You've been a great help."

"You are welcome Captain. Do you perhaps know where I can find Commander Tucker? I seem to be unable to locate him and my request does not warrant the use of a biosensor sweep."

"Good luck with that," Jon said with a chuckle and he saw that mysterious eyebrow creep up again. "He's been all over the ship. Why don't you just contact him with your communicator?"

"Starfleet apparently saw no necessity to issue me any communication devices nor any communication codes."

Jon fought down a flash of anger that quickly turned to shame, when he realized that two days ago he would probably have seconded that decision. That was before he finally had a chance to talk to her. Ashamed by his own prejudice, he zipped open the arm pocket of his uniform.

"Have mine," he said and handed her the device. "Ask Ensign Sato to establish a communication profile for you and reprogram the communicator. And if you find the time please consider yourself invited to dinner in the Captain's mess at nineteen hundred. Tell Commander Tucker to come, too when you find him."

"Thank you, Captain."

John did a double take as the slender Subcommander disappeared into the turbo lift. Did a Vulcan really just say 'thank you'?

=/\=

Trip was buried deep in the bowels of access hatch D17, lying on his back. He looked at the chaos before him. Who the hell had devised that layout? He looked up and taxed the moody plasma flow regulator. These things were known to be slightly fragile, so why did they put them in places that would require Houdini to pry them out? He swore out his disapproval and kept working on the part that he had fought with for the better part of half an hour.

When he looked down along his own body he could see two legs in front of the opening of the hatch. They were clad in brown cloth and only one person wore brown carpet colored suits – their new science officer.

"Can I do something for you, Subcommander?" he called out and of course he knew something must be on her mind, else she wouldn't have contacted him on Jon's com frequency about twenty minutes ago.

"Maybe, my request can wait until later."

"Bullcrap," he replied and prepared to crawl out, before he remembered something.

"Subcommander, can you open my toolbox? There should be a number of small V-shaped clips in the top drawer."

"There are." she answered after a while.

"You better put one on your nose to clamp it shut. I'm not exactly smelling like roses right now," he warned her.

When he had wiggled his way out of the cramped space, he had to fight hard not to laugh. She looked simply ridiculous with the clamp over her nose, but considering that he could barely stand his own odor right now, it was a worthwhile trade-off.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said and indicated her face. "But I've spent the last half hour in a cramped space at over 40 centigrade. I'm stinking like a polecat. I don't know much about Vulcans, but I've heard about your sense of smell."

"Your consideration is noted," she replied with a distorted voice.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was meaning to ask if you could spare a crewman to adjust the life support system in my quarters. The environmental controls do not let me select any temperature above 25 degrees centigrade."

"Right, you come from a desert planet," he contemplated. "That's nothing a crewman should do. When does your shift end?"

"Eighteen hundred," she quacked in her distorted voice and Trip realized it sounded somewhat cute. But what really impressed him was the way she accepted this. Most other Vulcans would have just gone mute for fear of their precious dignity being tainted. "We have been invited to dine with the Captain at nineteen hundred after the shift though."

"How high do you need to adjust it?" he asked, acknowledging her info with a nod and poking away at a PADD with the specs of the life support systems.

"Mean temperatures on Vulcan are at about thirty-five degrees centigrade. Unless I can raise the temperature in my quarters to at least thirty degrees, I would need to sleep in full uniform or order a much more substantial duvet."

"Got thermal lining in it, doesn't it? The uniform, I mean." he asked.

She nodded. He didn't remember having seen a Vulcan use that gesture before.

"Tell you what, T'Pol," he said. Suddenly catching his error, he added: "Sorry, may I call you that?"

"You just did," she replied dryly, but it did not sound the least bit offended.

"My friends call me Trip," he offered in return.

"I'm sure they do," she shot back deadpan.

"Anyway," he continued, ignoring her cold rebuff. "Dinner probably takes an hour or so. I'll drop by afterwards and adjust your systems."

"I am sure one of your engineering crew members can do that?" she argued. "I don't think my personal comfort warrants inconveniencing the chief engineer."

"First of all, crewmen have no business entering the quarters of an officer, unless it is an emergency," he explained. "Much less one from a species that values privacy as much as you do. And without wanting to toot my own horn, I think I'll get the job done faster than most of my people."

"As you wish, Commander," she said with that clamp-induced distorted voice of hers. "Do I need to keep this device?"

"Well, I'm gonna take a shower before I show up at dinner," he promised. "But I would keep it. There's more people working in hot environments and you really don't wanna know what it smells like if the captain's dog gets wet. So I'd recommend you keep it to use whenever neccessary until we have a doctor, who can maybe numb down your sense of smell. We work with a lot of substances around here that are unbearable to humans. I don't want to find out what they'd do to that pretty nose 'o yours."

"Very well, Commander. I will expected you in the evening."

"Better keep that thing on until you're out the door," he advised her with an apologetic smile.

=/\=

Hoshi was programming the communication profile for Subcommander T'Pol. She looked over and saw the Vulcan stand patiently with her hands clasped behind her back. She pressed the com button on her console.

"Ensign Sato to Lieutenant Reed."

"Reed here."

"Lieutenant I need your approval for a line officer communications profile. Where should I send it?"

"The security office is currently powered down and crawling with engineers. Where are you Ensign?"

"In the linguistics lab on E deck."

"I'll be with you in fifteen minutes, Ensign. Reed out."

The connection went silent.

"I can't believe they didn't even give you a communicator," Hoshi said grumpily. "I thought Earth and Vulcan were allies."

"There is still a lot of distrust between humans and Vulcans," T'Pol said. "And considering some of the decisions the High Command has made lately I would call it an understandable sentiment."

"Are you sure I was supposed to know that?" Hoshi said with a smile.

"Unless you prepare to report it to the Vulcan authorities I fail to see a problem."

"Don't worry," she said affording the Vulcan another bright smile. "It all stays in here. How did your first few days go? I suppose it isn't too easy getting used to be among so many humans."

"I have been posted at the Embassy long enough. I am quite used to be among humans. I find my tasks here much more challenging than the discomfort of being exposed to so many emotions."

"Problems?" Hoshi asked back, surprised by the Vulcan's openness. Their pointy-eared allies weren't exactly known to speak openly about their problems.

"As the science officer I have many crewmen under my command, including you. My style of command has not been overly effective so far."

"That will take time," Hoshi explained. "We are all not used to take orders from a Vulcan and with all due respect, you need to learn how to handle some people. If you want my advice, I'd say you might want to consult with Commander Tucker once in a while. I've only been here as long as you, but I've already noticed that his department is by far the most popular."

"That could prove to be difficult. I have noticed Commander Tucker's willingness to help, but consultations with him could be somewhat inefficient as I often find myself unable to comprehend his language."

"That drawl is something else, isn't it," Hoshi said with a giggle.

"When I assured him that my request was not important enough to warrant interrupting the work he was doing at the time, he replied with the term 'bullcrap', which as far as I know is a vulgar term for the excrement of a male bovine. It did not make any sense in the context of our conversation."

Hoshi laughed softly. The subcommander was really in for a tricky endeavor if she wanted to make sense of Commander Tucker's colorful language.

"'Bullcrap' or 'bullshit' are euphemisms for nonsense," she explained. "His language can be a bit colorful, especially if he's annoyed or angry. Was there anything that could have left him irritated?"

"He was working in an access hatch with little room for movement and high temperatures that were most discomforting. As far as I could overhear before he acknowledged my presence, he wanted to insert his boot into someone's derrière for placing a plasma flow regulator in an inaccessible place he did not approve of. He did not seem to know the person, but felt compelled to refer to him or her in rather disparaging terms."

Hoshi couldn't help but laugh about the Vulcan's bafflement when presented with Commander Tucker's vocabulary.

"I'm sorry, Subcommander," Hoshi apologized for laughing. "Since I am the communications officer, maybe I can help you with that. I'll set up a database for you and you can collect the phrases that confuse you. When you have the time you can drop by and I'll try to explain them to you."

"That would take up a significant amount of your free time, Ensign. Commander Tucker's predilection for colorful metaphors would fill up the database most rapidly, especially if I were to consult with him about my command style on a regular basis."

"I don't mind giving up my free time and my offer isn't entirely unselfish," Hoshi said, smiling at her superior officer. She liked how easily the Vulcan engaged in conversation. "I was hoping to practice my Vulcan, too. There are several dialects that I need to improve on, Golic for instance. From the way you pronounce the e's and o's I'd say you come from the  _Rh'Lar_  region. I haven't had much chances to practice that dialect."

She saw a very elevated eyebrow on the face of the subcommander.

" _Most impressive. My residence is indeed in_  Rh'lar, _"_ the subcommander answered in her native Vulcan.

" _I find your approval most gratifying,"_ Hoshi answered in kind. She really started to like the subcommander and in a way it was sad that her stay on the ship would be temporary. She pledged to use any possible opportunity to practice her language skills. Before they could launch into a full-fledged conversation in Vulcan, the entrance of Lieutenant Reed interrupted them.

Hoshi looked at him and had to stiffle a giggle. He had been so cute when her topless act in Brazil had flustered him. Maybe if the opportunity presented itself, she could put in a repeat performance. His blush was so adorable. Too bad the rules made it impossible getting to know him better and since she was still on probation for breaking her superiors arm, she couldn't really risk it, even for  _Enterprise's_  enigmatic but definitely interesting security chief.

"What can I do for you Ensign?" he asked and acknowledged subcommander T'Pol's presence with a nod.

"I've created a communication profile for Subcommander T'Pol, but I'm not sure what security clearance I should attach. There is no precedent for a line-officer from a foreign force on one of our star ships."

"What is your assignment status, Subcommander?"

Hoshi was surprised about the stern undertone in his voice.

"I am assigned to the diplomatic corps of the Vulcan High Command. For the duration of my assignment to  _Enterprise_ , my association with the High Command is suspended. I do not have any obligations to them and I have no plans to introduce any on my own volition."

 _She doesn't like the High Command,_ Hoshi mouthed and signaled the same in sign language behind the subcommander's back. The Lieutenant nodded and she was surprised that he understood sign language. She knew he did, when he signaled ' _take_ '. It was just a random word, but to the subcommander it would look like a halfway natural hand movement, while he was still getting the message across that he had understood her.

"Ensign," she heard him say as if the clandestine conversation had not happened. "Apply the security clearance of an O-4 line officer. Additional clearances can be added as needed."

"Aye, Sir," she acknowledged and added the necessary flags to the profile. She handed him the PADD and he added his approval. Hoshi smiled when their hands touched lightly while he returned it to her.

"Ensign, Subcommander."

After nodding to both of them he left. Hoshi was still smiling.


	5. Chain Of Command

T'Pol entered her quarters after finishing her shift and – quite illogically – she tried to raise the temperature. She knew that Commander Tucker would not modify her environmental controls until after the dinner with the captain, but considering the almost exaggerated effort on behalf of the humans to integrate her into the crew, she wouldn't have been surprised if he had somehow devised a way to make the necessary adjustments earlier.

While that theory had just been disproved, she was nonetheless most satisfied with her first few days on the human ship. The crew of Enterprise were people, who wanted to explore and therefore were considerably more open-minded and more willing to accept an alien among them than many other humans she had met over the years. Captain Jonathan Archer was known to be skeptical about Vulcans and considering the efforts of the High Command to delay the launch of the human ship, it came as no surprise that he harbored resentments. His father had been the principal designer of the engine and had been denied to witness the launch of his design by illness and the stalling tactics of the High Command.

Commander Tucker was difficult to understand. He seemed quite willing to help, when help was needed and he seemed to possess better knowledge about Vulcans than his captain, but he also seemed to be compelled to turn even trivial situations into something he could amuse himself with. He was the only one, who had given thought to the strain the odor of humans would put on her olfactory senses, yet he did so with a device that made her appearance amusing to him. On the other hand she had seen two humans use the same clip, when she had inspected the recycling facilities deep in the belly of the ship, so there was the possibility that they simply preferred form over function, even if it made them look ungainly. It was a topic worthy of contemplation.

Lieutenant Reed – according to the information she had been given by Soval – was a former operative in a secretive human organization that even the V'Shar had little information about. The control he possessed over his emotion was impressive and she wondered if he had been posing as a Vulcan at some point of time in his former assignment. She made a mental note to herself that she needed to ask him to certify her for use of human hand weapons. Even if her assignment should remain temporary, there was a possibility that they could find themselves in a combat situation and she would be at great risk if she had not been instructed in the handling of their small arms.

Ensign Sato was so far the most accommodating of her new ship mates. It was the same young woman she had once met in a human shop. She had helped her procure human clothes that would help conceal her physique to reduce undue attention from human males. Interestingly, for herself she had selected clothing that achieved the exact opposite. She looked much too young to be an officer, even though according to her service record she was indeed twenty-two years of age. That was young, but quite old enough for a posting as an officer by human standards.

Interestingly, her service record also mentioned that she was currently on a two-year probation period. She would be discharged from Starfleet if she would be charged with any further offenses. The record did not mention what offense she had been charged with. That was most unusual, even for humans. Her instincts as a former operative in the Ministry of Security told her that something about this situation did not seem correct. She had seen such cases in the High Command forces before. Mentioning the offenses that led to charges was only omitted if those charges were fabricated or if mentioning the offense would implicate higher ranking officers in wrong-doing. She decided to keep a watchful eye over the young female in case she would be unfairly targeted by Starfleet. The ensign had gone 'out of her way', as humans used to say, to help her and it was the least she could do in return.

A glance at the clock informed her that her reflection on some of her fellow officers left her thirty minutes to prepare for dinner with the captain and Commander Tucker.

=/\=

A loud bang resounded in Engineering

"Ow, shit, goddammit!" the chief swore. "Shit, that hurts!"

Two crewmen came running, grabbed the commander's leg and dragged him out of the access hatch. He was clutching his bleeding right hand. With a trained eye Lieutenant Anna Hess, his second in command and the department's dedicated first-aider, inspected the wound and applied a makeshift bandage.

"Billy, bring him to sick bay," she ordered and the crewman escorted the chief toward the medical facilities.

=/\=

Trip entered sickbay still clutching his right wrist. It didn't help in any way with the damned pain, but somehow gave him a feeling of security that his hand was still where it was supposed to be.

"Ah, my first patient," the doctor greeted him entirely too cheerful for the situation. He was of a species he had not see before. Prominent ridges ran from his high forehead around the eyes to his cheek. A smaller upside-down Y-shaped ridge adorned his chin.

"I had a bit of an argument with a plasma flow regulator. I lost," Trip groaned when the doctor peeled the bandage off. It was by now soaked through already.

The doctor inspected the would and came back with a shallow bowl containing a clear liquid.

Trip was still wondering what it was, when the doctor grabbed his wrist and wordlessly dunked his hand into it. He almost passed out when his whole hand seemed to be on fire.

"Oh shit!" he growled "What the hell is that, acid?!"

"The pain will subside quickly," the doctor answered, still infuriatingly cheerful.

Soon the burning sensation went away and his hand was now buzzing like it used to do when he came back inside after playing in the snow without gloves as a child. The nurse, a pretty young woman started bandaging his hands. He smiled at her apologetically.

"Two days and it will be as good as new," she said and smiled back at him.

"Thanks, crewman," he said and hopped off the biobed, before addressing the doctor. "What's the verdict? Do I get to keep the hand, doctor?"

"Just some burns," the alien said and flashed him an impossibly wide smile. "But I suggest you settle your arguments with your technology by different means."

Trip laughed. "I'm Commander Tucker. Will probably not be the last time we meet. Engineering is not exactly the safest place, especially with so much experimental technology around."

"I'm prepared," the doctor answered, still grinning.

"Do you have something to put over the bandage to keep it dry? I've got dinner with the Captain in twenty minutes and I need to take a shower beforehand.

"Thanks doc," he said and took the plastic cover that he was handed by the alien. "By the way, you are...?"

"Phlox, my name is Phlox."

"Commander Tucker, pleased to meet you, doc."

=/\=

Jon saw a pattern developing here. The steward had already started putting down the plates and cutlery and there was still no sign of Trip. He was sitting at the head of the table. His science officer was sitting ramrod straight to to the left of him. Trip's place was to his right. Finally the door opened and Trip walked into the room, his right hand bandaged.

"Sorry, Cap'n," he started to apologize, but Jon cut him off by raising his hand.

"What happened?" he asked, pointing at the bandage.

"Got too cocky, that's what happened," Trip said. "Thought I could rip out a plasma flow regulator and push the new one in fast enough so I don't need to reroute plasma flow. I was wrong."

Jon laughed. Trip always had a knack for trying to get things done faster than others.

"Why do we need to replace parts already?" he asked. "We haven't even left space dock."

"Because most of the parts have been delivered by the lowest bidder. Those regulators are just fine at warp four. But this is supposed to be a warp 5 ship. If we try to go faster than four point five half of engineering will blow up in our face. They just assumed that we won't go over four point five anyway."

The steward delivered the meals. He set down a bowl of vegetarian broth and a copious salad in front of T'Pol and delivered pasta dishes for Trip and himself. Since this was the first meal with their Vulcan officer, they had decided not to risk offending her by tearing into big slabs of meat.

"What are you replacing them with?" Jon asked. It sounded a bit ridiculous to install flimsy regulators if better parts were available.

"Backbone regulators from a Marconi class," Trip explained in between bites. "They only do two point five, but the plasma pressure in their backbone ducts is higher than what we would get if we were able to reach warp six."

"And we just happened to have those lying around?" he asked with suspicion. Something smelled fishy and it wasn't his food.

"No I got them through BuShips. I have a few contacts there. Spared us a lot of red tape."

Jon put his fork down and fixed him with an offended look.

"Asking the ship's captain obviously didn't enter your mind, did it, Commander."

"Uh,...,Cap'n," Trip stammered and he could easily identify the confusion about the sudden formality on Trip's face. "I mean if we'd done that through official channels, we'd still be waiting for a decision if we will even get them."

"Commander, I would have every reason to confine you to your quarters, right now. In case you wondered what that fourth pip here is for," John said sternly and tapped his rank insignia. "It says 'Captain' and that means any business with people from outside the crew goes through me. Did I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Captain."

"You will provide updated specs, calculations and a detailed engineering report about the deficiencies of the original parts by tomorrow morning. I'll deal with Admiral Forest and BuShips to get the change legalized retro-actively, but for that I'll need those reports. Is that understood?"

"Aye, Captain."

The rest of the dinner proceeded in awkward silence.

=/\=

"Come," Trip said grumpily, when the door chime of his office in Engineering announced a visitor.

The door opened to reveal that his visitor was Subcommander T'Pol. He looked at the clock – 21:08.

"Damn," he swore under his breath. He had forgotten that he had promised to adjust the environmental systems in her quarters.

"I'm sorry, Subcommander," he said sincerely. "I forgot the time, I'll be with you in a minute."

"It is no longer necessary. I have already talked to Lieutenant Hess. She volunteered to make the necessary adjustments."

"And I'm not being...," he stopped mid sentence and sat down back on his char. He finished the sentence with a sarcastic voice. "Asked. Pot calling the kettle black."

He looked over at his guest and saw a very elevated eyebrow. It could be the Vulcan equivalent of laughing at him.

"As I said, Lieutenant Hess has just left to make the necessary changes. I came to your office for a different reason. I estimated that the amount of documentation that the captain demanded could not be produced by a single person in the given time without completely foregoing sleep. I am here to offer my assistance in producing the requested documents."

"Well, I'm not going to turn down an offer like that," he said with a grateful smile and held out a wheeled office chair for her. She gracefully sat down on it.

He sat down on the chair next to her and pointed at the screen. I'm currently updating the plasma flow diagrams at speeds over warp four point five."

He saw her nod and she rolled her chair over to a second desk with a terminal.

"I shall begin updating the schematics of the respective plasma conduits."

"Thanks a lot, subcommander."

=/\=

Stanford wasn't doing well. How could they give away a game as easy as that? It was almost as if they had gone on strike. Frustrated he stopped the recording.

"Come," he called, when the door chime rang. The door opened and Trip entered his quarters with a stack of PADDs.

"Trip?" he asked curtly.

"I've got the docs you wanted," he said. "But first let me say sorry for doing the regulator deal without notifying you. I wanted to get those things as soon as possible and sort of forgot that I'm no longer the ranking officer. It won't happen again."

"That's why I had to remind you that the ship has a Captain, now," Jon said and took out two glasses and a bottle of Bourbon. He saw Trip nod when he held the bottle up as a way of asking.

"Well, consider me well reminded," Trip said sincerely.

"That's why I didn't press disciplinary measures. You've been in charge for months. But you need to get that out of your system in a hurry. I need a first officer, not someone, who questions my authority or does back-room deals behind my back. You wouldn't even have updated the specs."

"No, I wouldn't have," Trip admitted.

"So they would have pumped out the next NX ships with the same shoddy regulators. You're the guy who gets the first NX running. All subsequent ships will be built relying on your expertise. We need those docs."

"But there's the problem," Trip pleaded. "I got those regulators within four hours with barely any paperwork. That's the only reason why I got the crew evaluations done in time. My day only has twenty-four hours. Chief engineer and first officer that's an impossible combination."

"Why haven't you told me?" Jon asked.

"I'm telling you now," Trip said and by the way he tiredly ran his fingers through his hair, he could tell that the man was running himself ragged. "I've only noticed the last two days. Until the bridge crew was completed, there was no First Officer, no crew evaluations and a whole lot other bureaucracy to deal with."

"We have no other Commander on board and Reed won't be promoted anytime soon," Jon explained.

"We have," Trip said and Jon shot him a questioning look. "I've checked the database. Subcommander is equal to our rank of commander."

"She's a consultant and only assigned on temporary basis," he reminded him.

"Something's not adding up, Jon," he said. "She strikes me as someone, who actually wants to be here and Hoshi told me over lunch that T'Pol doesn't like the High Command. Why would she leave Earth, where she's far away from their supervision to go back to Vulcan?"

"What makes you think that she wants to be here?"

"Who suggested Phlox?" Trip asked before pointing at the stack of PADDs. "And do you think I did all those by myself? I'm an engineer, not a magician. An hour after dinner she showed up in my office and offered to help, because she had worked out that I would have not a cat's chance in hell to get those docs done without pulling an all-nighter."

"T'Pol helped you with these?" Jon asked in disbelief and poured another glass.

"You should see her at work. She types faster than I can read. She solves quadratic equations faster than I can add up one and one. It was absolutely amazing. Now, tell me, would you give up your free time for an assignment you don't care about?"

Jon thought about it. Trip had a point. She wasn't like any other Vulcan he had met. It was as if she went out of her way to blend in. She didn't complain about 'unseemly emotions'. She had not offered any criticism, even though their Bolognese at dinner contained meat and Admiral Forest had recommended her with a raving review that made it look as if he was trying to marry her off. Something really didn't add up.

"Hm," he said downing the rest of his Bourbon. "I think the two of us should have a little chat with our Vulcan guest tomorrow."


	6. Twisted Logic

"What the hell is this all about?" Trip asked, walking next to the captain. "You ask T'Pol for a private chat and -  **boom**  - here come Forest and Soval?"

"I'd say your theory about her motives has raised a few alarms," Jon said. "There's definitely something going on behind the scenes and I can't shake the feeling we weren't supposed to find out – or at the very least not yet. Can't say I like being left in the dark."

"You think she's been installed as a spy?" Trip asked, questioning his prior judgment. After all, they only had Hoshi's statement that T'Pol claimed she didn't like the High Command. That was easy to say. Maybe he had let his judgment be clouded by her generous offer to help with the documents and her general willingness to fit into the crew?

"I don't think so," Archer said, interrupting Trip's wandering thoughts. "I have a feeling her posting was not as temporary as we were made to believe. If she were a spy, I think Reed would have sniffed her out by now. You said yourself that he's some kind of former spook. That means he knows what signs to look for."

"I thought this was all about exploring and now we're caught up in politics by the looks of it," Trip said frustrated.

"When the Vulcans are involved, it's always about politics," the captain replied with an equally frustrated undertone. "Let's wait what they have to say. It could be something completely different even though I doubt it."

=/\=

"Good morning, Ensign," Malcolm offered as a greeting when he walked into the linguistics lab. As always Ensign Sato returned it with a blindingly beautiful smile. He had to fight the urge to smile back. It was hard enough not to show how much it affected him, especially as he had quickly noticed that except for the bloody yank from engineering and himself, no other officer received a smile quite this radiant from the beautiful ensign.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he rued his fate in his mind. Leave one job that makes it impossible to have a woman and get caught up in one where it is forbidden to begin with – bloody brilliant.

When he had shaken his self-pity she was still looking at him.

"Have you you found out what frequency band these buggers were using?" he asked, looking at the selection of small devices on the palm of his hand.

"Oh, that wasn't too difficult," she said and Malcolm noticed a distinct amusement in the young ensign's voice. "The whole frequency band they were transmitting on is assigned to the Vulcan Embassy. And you were right; they are simple listening devices with the most ridiculously easy-to-crack encryption I've ever seen."

"The Vulcan embassy installed these listening devices on our ship?" he said, angry and frustrated that the first thing he had noticed was, that the ship had been bugged by an outside force.

"Looks like it."

"I believe I need to have a word with our Subcommander," he snorted. "I don't think listening in to the what happens in the Captain's ready room or the armory is part of a science officer's job description."

"Are you sure it was the Subcommander?" she argued. "I believe her when she says that she's not exactly fond of the High Command. Why would she spy on us for them. It doesn't make sense."

"Words are cheap, Ensign," he replied. "She has been a trifle too accommodating so far, don't you think? If you listen to Commander Tucker, you'd think she's the biggest thing since sliced bread. I had to listen to him waxing lyrically about how much she helped with getting the documents done for the Captain. She types faster than he can read, does complex mathematical calculations in her head faster than he can program them into the computer. That's an awfully sophisticated training for an ambassadorial aide."

"Are you sure you aren't just paranoid?" she asked. "According to the ships log there have been dozens of Vulcans on the ship during the construction and who knows, maybe they just bribed someone of the crew to install them."

"Bloody Norah, how could I forget that!" he spat and hastily opened his communicator. "Reed to Ensign Taylor!"

"Taylor here."

"Capture protocol 'Ear', countdown minus thirty."

"Capture 'Ear' T minus thirty, aye."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm began to berate himself for his sloppiness, but he was stopped by the com chime.

"Archer to Reed."

Malcolm walked over to the com panel and replied to the hail.

"Lieutenant, would you mind joining us at airlock seven?" the captain requested.

"On my way, sir," Malcolm said and turned back around towards Hoshi. "Thank you for spotting my... oversight, Ensign."

He turned and left the room.

"Now I just need to convince Phlox to surgically remove that stick you've got up your ass, Lieutenant," Hoshi said with a sigh and a lopsided grin, but the target of her quip and her dreamy glance was already out of the door and couldn't hear it.

=/\=

Malcolm arrived at the airlock, where Captain Archer, Subcommander T'Pol and that blond-haired yank were already waiting. The Captain looked, well captain-ish, calm and collected, while the mien of the Vulcan gave away exactly nothing. She could bankrupt the lot at a poker game, he thought. He was determined to find out what she had to do with the current situation.

The yank, well he was his usual self – grinning at everyone like a blithering idiot, engaging the Captain in useless smalltalk. He had a hard time believing that this was the man, who had come up with a theory that hit so close to home it would prompt both the Admiralty and the Vulcans to see fit coming for a visit. For what he had seen of the man so far, he ticked each and every box on the stereotype checklist for rednecks, including, but not limited to, the atrocious accent at times.

His mental evaluation of the fellow officers was cut short by the loud beep that announced the end of re-pressurization. The airlock door opened and their two visitors stepped out.

"We should take this conversation to a more private location at all haste," Soval said without as much as a greeting and the captain directed them to the captain's mess.

As soon as they had arrived, both Soval and Admiral Forest started to walk all over the room with scanners until both came to stand in front of him.

"Are the gentlemen by any chance looking for these?" Malcolm asked them dryly and took a handful of the miniature devices out of his pocket and piled them up on the table.

"How many have you found?" Soval asked.

"Fifty-three," Malcolm said with a snort. "They were literally all over the ship. We even found some that were sown into the hem of my undershirts.

"Someone bugged your underwear?" the captain asked in visible disbelief. Even the bloody yank had the decency to look scandalized.

"Obviously. What better way to undermine a ship's security than listening in to what its security officer has to say," Malcolm replied.

"What is your assessment of their sophistication, Lieutenant," Soval asked him, stowing away his scanner.

"Some of the hiding places where actually quite good," he explained. "But the devices themselves are the work of a bloody amateur. Their transmitter unit is completely unshielded, so our communications officer noticed the unaccounted for traffic the first time she fired up her console and the encryption – I quote – was 'ridiculously easy to crack'. Whoever had these installed either thinks we are roaming the streets at night, licking windows or we've uncovered the galaxy's most useless spy."

"The latter," Forest and Soval said in perfect unison, causing the human contingent to chuckle, well all except himself.

"Would you care to tell us what this is all about?" the captain asked and Malcolm could see that despite his momentary amusement, the man took the situation quite personally. That would make them two already.

"What we are about to disclose to you is to be considered highly classified information," Forest said. "Nobody not currently in attendance must learn of what Soval is about to disclose. Did I make myself clear?"

All officers answered in the affirmative.

"Four years ago, V'Las, a long-time member of the High Command ascended to the highest post in the governing body – that of Administrator," Soval began his narrative. "He is one of the Elders of clan  _dvinsu ekon-ak_ , a smaller clan that never played a prominent role in Vulcan politics or the society at large. Shortly after his ascension to power several older ministers were forced to resign, ostensibly due to their old age and were replaced by younger men, all of which came from the clan  _dvinsu ekon-ak_ or houses allied to it through strategically arranged marriages."

"The classical groundwork for establishing a dictatorship," Malcolm noted.

"Indeed," Soval acknowledged and continued. "In recent months the purging of dissident voices has become increasingly aggressive. In several cases the whole house, sometimes even the wider clan are summarily punished. Lately these purges have been extended to diplomatic personnel of our Embassy here on Earth."

"And T'Pol's one of them?" the chief asked. Malcolm fought down a snort. The yank couldn't even keep proper protocol. He doubted severely that a Vulcan of all people had offered him to be on a first name basis.

"Subcommander T'Pol, myself and several other Embassy staff are members of the clan  _Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n_."

"I wanna see  **that**  name tag," the yank joked and Malcolm gripped the armrest of his chair. The Ambassador was describing what could be a massive conspiracy and that redneck clown knew no better than joking about names. Who had made that man a Commander?

"It is here," the Subcommander replied and pointed at an elaborate Vulcan symbol on the collar of her catsuit, to the obvious amusement of the chief. Malcolm nearly groaned. Great, now she of all people started to humor that pikey and his ridiculously unprofessional attitude. But what really riled him was that the other attendees, including the Ambassador and the Admiral seemed to be completely blasé about it.

"And I suppose your clan is not part of those, who marry into the Administrator's clan," he stated in a clipped voice in an attempt to bring the discussion back on track. The death stare he got from the yank did not elude his attention.

"No, our clan is in fact the major target of the High Command," Soval explained.

"What has your clan done to deserve so much attention from the authorities and how does our science officer fit into this?" the captain asked.

"Our main offense is that several houses of our clan are descendants of Surak and his first followers," Soval answered. "The High Command claims sole interpretative authority over the teachings of Surak, the father of Vulcan logic. However, this claim lacks credibility if a whole house of his descendants and his first disciples is working in prominent positions."

"You and T'Pol are descendants of Surak himself?" the chief asked.

"We are of the house T'Klaas, the first  _kohlinar_  master."

"So, pretty close to Surak then," he asked back.

"Yes."

"If you don't mind my asking, Admiral," Malcolm interrupted. "What sense does it make that we do our first test flight to Vulcan? We could end up delivering the Subcommander straight into the hands of the High Command."

"Soval got a direct order to install Subcommander T'Pol on this ship and have  _Enterprise_  do the first long range test flight to Vulcan. We wanted to make it look as if he succeeded to secure his post here. At the end of your test flight the High Command are planning to take Subcommander T'Pol off the ship and replace her with a surgically altered double," Forest explained.

"I take it that the original would no longer be of any use for the High Command, once the exchange has been completed," Malcolm analyzed dryly.

"Doubtful," Soval replied deadpan.

 _Ah, that's what it is about with these two,_ Malcolm thought sarcastically when he saw the sick-as-a-dog look on the yanks face.  _Someone's got a crush on the Subcommander._

"And when exactly were you meaning to let us know about all that?" the Captain asked and Malcolm saw the rigid stance of the man. There was no prize for guessing that he was short of blowing a gasket.

"Right after you shoved off," Forest explained. "I know Jon, this sucks, but we were worried about agents among the crew and station personnel. Once you are out in space you are safer than you are here."

"We will know about that in five minutes," Malcolm forestalled the captain's reply. He sensed that all eyes were on him.

"Five, four, three, two, one," he counted down a few minutes later and a klaxon started blaring all over the ship.

"All security personnel, security breach code E, this is no drill – repeat – security breach code E, this is no drill..."

The message repeated a few times and the klaxon went silent.

"What the hell was that?" the chief asked.

"Just me doing my job," Malcolm answered snidely, noticing the tone of his voice too late to catch this lapse in professionalism.

"Care to elaborate?" the captain asked curtly.

"Unless either my second in command or our communications officer is an agent for the High Command, someone will try to salvage a few of these little buggers before it is to late in the next few minutes," Malcolm said, pointing at the pile of listening devices on the table. "All we have to do is wait."

=/\=

"I have noticed a substantial tension between Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker," T'Pol said. She was visiting Ensign Sato in the communication officer's quarters for one of the lessons in rarer Vulcan dialects she had agreed to.

"That's not really surprising," the young human replied. "They are polar opposites. Lieutenant Reed can barely bend-over with that stick up his butt and Commander Tucker is laid back. That can't work out too well."

"Stick up his...?"

"Oh, sorry," the ensign said with an expression of amusement. "I believe we have found the first entry for your 'colorful phrases database'. If someone is said to have a 'stick up the butt' means that someone is overly strict, inflexible and uptight."

"I do not see professional behavior as a reason to apply a rather distasteful metaphor," T'Pol explained.

"He is overly formal and it's a facade," Hoshi said. "I'm a communications expert and body language is a language, too. The mere fact that he quite often comes to the linguistics lab for things we could have easily dealt with by communicator makes it quite obvious that he's interested in me. More than once I noticed that he nearly called me Hoshi instead of Ensign. Yet he keeps pretending that I'm just another ensign to him."

"That would be an unseemly familiarity between an officer and a subordinate," T'Pol replied. She wondered if the young Ensign was aware of how obvious it was that she reciprocated the Lieutenant's interest. Whenever she spoke of him – even if criticizing him – her face expression changed substantially.

"I don't know what they were thinking," Hoshi replied and T'Pol was taken aback by the sudden angry undertone in the Ensign's voice. Maybe those no-fraternization regulations work for the military down on Earth. They can go home for the weekend and they can have a significant other they can see regularly. We are preparing to go out for months, maybe even years. It's not only unrealistic – it's inhumane."

"How long can humans function without... intimate contact?" T'Pol asked, wondering why Starfleet had not considered this aspect of their nature.

"It depends on the individual," the young ensign explained. "Some actually manage to do so all their lives, but that are exceptional examples. Humans are gregarious by nature and most of us cannot live comfortably if we are denied the close, intimate contact of a loved one for months or even years. We can force ourselves to endure it, of course, but in the end it does more harm than good."

"It is certainly a topic to be brought to Starfleet's attention, is it not?" she asked. The thought of spending her time on a ship full of human males deprived of intimate contact did not appeal to her.

"What for?" she heard the clearly frustrated reply of the young human. "The rules were made by people, who serve on Earth. They can go home each night where their husbands or wives are waiting for them. For them we are just brave explorers, who don't have any needs. We don't need comfort, we don't need company and we surely don't need sex. It's all working perfectly – for them at least."

"How does that relate to the tension between Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed?" T'Pol asked, trying to get the conversation back to its original topic before the Ensign could become even more enraged.

"Trip... Commander Tucker just helps himself to some of the things that make his life easier." her host explained. "He is on first name basis with all his engineering staff. They meet after duty and engage in recreational activities. Now going strictly by the rules, even that could be interpreted as fraternization, but he doesn't care. He wants to make the life of his people and his own as comfortable as he can. Lieutenant Reed can't overcome his drilled-in formality to do the same and it makes him jealous."

"Lieutenant Reed experiences jealousy because of his inability to break the rules?" T'Pol asked. That was the most fascinating twist in logic she had ever heard.

The young human nodded. "If it was for him, he would surely have asked me to share a meal with him by now, or maybe even a meeting after duty hours. But he can't take the plunge to just ask me. Commander Tucker would just do so – regulations be hanged. He envies that. It makes him angry and he projects that back on Commander Tucker."

"Most fascinating," T'Pol said, now understanding why Commander Tucker had been so elated when she had offered no protest over his omitting her rank in conversation.

"Most dangerous!" her human host suddenly said loudly in visible shock. "I believe they both booked gym time at 1800 today. It's 18:20 now. We should run!"

In slight confusion she ran out of the young ensign's quarters, barely able to keep up with the pace of the young human.


	7. Tension

Trip stalked towards the gym in a foul mood. Not only had the damn Limey made it more than clear that he didn't like him much, on top of it the Brit's security crew had also caught two of his engineering crewmen red-handed, as they scrambled to remove some of the listening devices when the alarm sounded, not knowing that they were already in the possession of the ship's security officer. That two of his own engineering crew had been working for the corrupt High Command felt like a very personal insult.

Massaro and Ngoma had been two of the more quiet members of his team and even Anna had sometimes had her troubles working out how to handle them – and she was the people's person extra-ordinaire. Well, now they at least knew why.

He couldn't find anything bad to say about the efficiency with which the ship's uptight security chief had done his job – he certainly knew how it's done – but that didn't mean he couldn't use a darn good attitude adjustment. They would be going out for months, maybe even years cooped up in a small space. There was no place in such a close space for someone, who acted like he was preparing to slay Highlanders at Prestonpans.

Since the small gym required time booking, he knew the Brit was currently the only one using the small facility and now was as good a time as any to get it over with. He wouldn't want to confront him where subordinates could hear it. Whatever problem the uptight guy had, it didn't warrant undermining his authority in front of noncoms or junior officers.

The door to the gym opened and he found his fellow officer pummeling the punching bag, swearing fiercly under his breath in Gaelic, which was a surprise considering that the security chief was more English than that King they stubbornly kept retaining despite Britain having long since stopped being an isolated nation. They had been one of the last nations to step under the umbrella of the United Earth government and they insisted on having a King or Queen, no matter what.

On the other hand it was equally unusual that he, as a supposed redneck, would know any foreign language, let alone the old dialect of the Irish. Being an Irish Folk aficionado wasn't a very common 'affliction' in the south as many of the descendants of Irish immigrants preferred the northern states. It wasn't hard to guess that he was the topic of the Lieutenant's vulgar soliloquy as he offered several rather outlandish theories about his mother's ancestry and her preference for rather uncommon intimate partners while continuing to punch the hapless leather bag in a veritable rage.

" _Do we have a problem, Lieutenant?_ " he asked in flawless Irish Gaelic. While the Brit obviously thought he would be safe from being found out unloading on a fellow officer verbally, he had actually chosen the one who appreciated a good Paddy Reilly tune and could practice the language once in a while when he visited his brother Jay in Dublin.

He had to force himself not to laugh out loud about the Lieutenant's 'deer-in-headlights' look. He was obviously ill-prepared for being caught by the same officer he had just cussed off fiercely. Trip enjoyed seeing the momentary look of defeat in the other man's eyes. But Reed was a former spook. He had probably gotten himself into and out of more tight spots than the sole vibrator in an all-girls boarding school, so Trip didn't feel like gloating just yet. As expected the Brit shook off the momentary shock with trained ease after mere moments and noticed that the man fixed him with a steely glare that would come in very handy to intimidate lesser opponents.

"I'm afraid I don't understand your question, sir."

"Oh you don't?" Trip replied sarcastically. "Well let me help you then. You made it quite clear that you don't think much of me during the meeting this morning. You probably think I spend my evenings on a mechanical bull hollering 'yee-haw' all the time. Well, you are mistaken, Mister. Whatever problem you have with me, you better tell me right now."

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Who am I? Stalin?" Trip asked with an indignant snort. "Of course you've got permission to speak freely. In fact I would like to ask you do so before we end up getting into each other's hair in front of subordinates."

"I never implied you were an idiot, but you have to admit that your conduct is less than professional. This isn't a cruise ship in the Caribbean."

"It isn't a barracks of the Royal Navy either," Trip spat. "If you want to be a drill sergeant, parading and shouting orders all day, then go and join the fucking Navy. This is a ship of exploration and Starfleet isn't the army."

"I do not think it is your right to decide where I should serve!" the Lieutenant shouted back and Trip wondered why the man, who could so far give T'Pol a run for the money in terms of suppressing his emotions, was suddenly reacting quite openly hostile. True, he hadn't delivered his riposte in the most diplomatic fashion, but the sudden outburst of the otherwise very controlled Brit was a surprise.

His face had been red from the exertion, but it had now gone pale in anger and he could see the rage in the man's eyes. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to back away, but that would definitely not help right now.

"No it isn't, but you are running around here like you'd be more comfortable in a MACO uniform," Trip ranted. "We have certain rules and those must be followed, true. But their enforcement is the captain's job, not yours, got it? If you have a problem, then take it to me instead of taking it out on a fucking punching bag that doesn't fight back."

"Preposterous!" the younger officer sneered at him. "You know full well that if I knocked your redneck arse to the floor, I'd find myself court-martialed the next day."

"Not if I challenged you to a sparring match," Trip growled and took a pair of boxing gloves that were hanging on the wall. Using his teeth for help he fastened them and looked back at the Lieutenant, who was glowering at him. He threw him a packaged mouth protector, biting on the one he had unpacked for himself. Once they were ready they took their positions on a mat that was usually used for training judo or other forms of martial arts.

"So what is it, Lieutenant?" he taunted him, barely understandable due to the mouth-piece. "Would you prefer to punch this here leather bag and develop theories about the sexual preferences of my mother or are you man enough to take on an opponent, who actually fights back?"

"I'm ready," the Brit replied curtly and the two men started skipping and bouncing around each other with quick steps, trying to find an opening in the other man's defenses.

=/\=

The doors to the gym opened and Hoshi came in, fairly out of breath, followed by T'Pol, who looked like it wasn't any sort of effort at all to run across half the ship. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her worst fears proven true. The boxing match looked like it had gone on for a while already as both men had redecorated each other's faces quite thoroughly.

Lieutenant Reed's lip was swollen and blood trickled from a cut on his right eyebrow. Commander Tucker seemed to have taken quite a lot of abuse as his right eye was swollen shut and his complete right cheek and temple were covered in partially dried blood. Some of it had dripped down on his muscular chest, leaving traces of dried blood on his torso.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Hoshi shouted and forcefully slung her arms around Lieutenant Reed from behind to stop him from advancing on Commander Tucker again. She saw how T'Pol 'arrested' Commander Tucker. Both men tried to struggle free for a while, but they had thoroughly drained each other of most of their energy and were unable to escape the grip even of someone as small as herself. Following T'Pol's example she directed her captive to a bench, forcing him to sit down, and making sure there was enough distance between the combatants.

"What kind of stupid testosterone bender did you two go on?" she raged, pacing the room in front of them. "How old are you? Fifteen?"

"Ensign," T'Pol interrupted, but Hoshi didn't feel like being calmed down. "I'm not done yet, T'Pol."

"Can't you guys work out a better way to settle your differences than punching the fucking shit out of each other?" she fumed She knew she was treading on thin ice cussing off two superiors with the probation hanging over her head, but she didn't care. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was a guy who settled his arguments with his fists. The disappointment that Malcolm had taken part in it cut deep.

She saw that both men looked at her completely dumbfounded. She didn't know if that was because they had punched each other's brains out of service or because they had assumed this 'shy wallflower' wouldn't ever say shit even if she had a mouthful of it.

"Don't look at me like you don't understand shit, Malcolm," she said and to her chagrin she heard her own voice break. "All the time you have that damn stick so far up your ass you're gagging on it. You can't even return a smile to save your life. But when you get your knickers in a twist because Trip doesn't act as aloof as you, you lose it?"

"Yeah, you should really learn how to return a smile, Malcolm," she heard a sarcastic voice from behind and froze. "But don't try it with that face Lieutenant, because at the moment you look like the aftermath of a tragic farming accident."

Hoshi did of course know who that voice belonged to, and turned around slowly. The scowling captain stood near the entrance, leaning against the wall.

"C-captain," she stammered.

"Surprised, Ensign?" he said. "Do you really think security won't call me if two of my bridge offers run through the corridors as if their hair is on fire? Not that they could have hidden it anyway. Look at them. They look like poster boys for reconstructive surgery."

"We had noticed the building tension between Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed. Unfortunately we were too late to prevent the altercation," T'Pol admitted.

"So much is obvious," the Captain replied. "Subcommander, Ensign, please escort these gentlemen to the brig. Make sure you separate them. We don't have a morgue on board."

Hoshi watched the door shut behind the retreating captain. "Great, just fucking great," she swore in defeat.

=/\=

Trip woke up in the brig. Shortly after having been delivered there by a distinctly reproachful looking T'Pol he had fallen asleep from the exhaustion. It was amazing how T'Pol managed to get her mood across with little modifications to her face expression. When he sat up he saw Lieutenant Reed sit on his bunk in the neighboring cell.

Even during the fight his views on the Brit had changed. Yes he was probably still too uptight, but the Brit needed to run his security team with a stricter regime than he could afford in Engineering. To his chagrin he had noticed too late that he had not thought about that before making up his opinion of the tactical and security officer. Well, maybe this fight had at least brought a chance to open a crack in the tough shell of the former spook.

Trip really liked Hoshi. To everyone, who bothered to look, it was quite obvious that there was quite a bubbly personality hidden behind this wallflower façade. She had made it quite clear that she didn't care much for how they had resolved their differences, but maybe in the end she could even profit from it. Maybe if he tried talking to the man now that they didn't have much other entertainment options anyway...

"She's got spunk, doesn't she?" he said to the Brit in the adjacent cell.

"Who?" the other man answered and Trip saw that he was still slightly wary, but he could also sense a willingness to open up, at least a little.

"Who – Hoshi of course. And she seems to have a veritable crush on you," Trip replied, rolling his eyes.

"I doubt it would help in my situation if I added fraternization to the list of regulation violations, Commander."

"I have to say, you pack quite a punch," Trip said sincerely. "I was undefeated sectional and regional champion in '38 and '39 and I've fought against some really bad-ass types, but nobody ever thrashed me like you did."

"Trust me Commander, I've noticed you weren't boxing for the first time," the Brit answered and held his chin, moving his lower jaw. Trip could see that while their fight had been a rather juvenile way to settle things, but at least they had – literally – bashed some of their prejudices out of each other's heads.

"Would you drop the damn rank?" Trip said with a chuckle. "We're sitting in the brig together and who knows what our rank will be tomorrow. I'm Trip."

Since he couldn't offer a hand to shake through the wall between them, he put his fist against it. He could see the hesitation in the Brit's eyes. As a former spy he probably wasn't used to trusting anyone, but after a while that tough shell of the Lieutenant opened a little and he bumped his fist to the wall, too.

"Malcolm."

"Do you think they'll ever talk to us again?" Trip asked in reference to T'Pol and Hoshi, implicitly admitting that he liked the Vulcan Subcommander quite a bit.

"I wouldn't count on it," Malcolm snorted. "You've probably got better chances with your Subcommander. I think Hoshi made her opinion known quite unmistakably."

Trip laughed, noticing that the Brit had used her first name. "Now that I've thoroughly proven that I'm a 'volatile, primitive human', I'm probably top on T'Pol's shit-list right now. Too bad; she's actually quite companionable if you look past that Vulcan shell and believe it or not, she actually has a sense of humor. You're right in the middle of something and she delivers one of those dry Vulcan zingers."

"Not to forget pretty, too," Malcolm noted. "She's got an awfully nice bum."

With satisfaction Trip saw that the still stuffy Brit started to open up a little more. His commenting on another officers derrière would probably never have happened a day ago.

"I had the impression you were more fascinated with Hoshi's tush."

"Oh, you have no idea," Malcolm said and for the first time ever the chief heard the man actually chuckle. "It's exquisite and, believe it or not, I've actually seen it."

Trip sat up again and looked over at the man in the cell next to him.

"Now there's a story in there, Malcolm. And seeing we have not much else to do..."

"Remember when you sent me to Brazil to pick her up?"

Trip nodded.

"Well, Manaus control cleared me for a straight-in approach and I ended up being two hours early..."

=/\=

Jon heaved a sigh looking at the table in front of him. Breakfast was served and normally Trip would be sitting to the right, but his first officer was currently a VIP guest in the brig as a result of the brawl he'd staged with the ship's security officer the evening before.

It wasn't exactly how he had envisioned his first command. They hadn't even left space dock and they were already caught in the middle of a Vulcan conspiracy, and on top of that his officers were either starting to brawl or harboring crushes on each other. In two prominent cases, they were actually doing both.

He had known Hoshi Sato for some time already. Having been part of the jury that decided her fate during the disciplinary hearing after she had broken Captain Rodriguez's arm, he knew that her goody-two-shoes façade was no more than that – a façade. She was a lively little thing, who knew how to have fun. Had the jury been privy to what really had happened that evening, as opposed to the lame official story, she would not be in Starfleet anymore. But neither would several other officers who opted to go with the cover-up to save their own asses and went with the bullshit story of her breaking his arm after Rodriguez had tried to sweep the gambling chips off the table.

Granted, disclosing that she actually kicked the shit out of him because he tried to feel her up in a drunken stupor while she was performing a striptease would have raised holy hell – especially since her audience featured several high-ranking officers, who visited the congregations solely because of this recurring element of her gambling weekends. So the cowardly lot of them had fabricated a cover story that put all the blame on her as that was way easier than admitting they were lusting over a fresh-faced cadet with an exhibitionist streak. At least they had the decency to let her off lightly, but even that was abused by some of the assholes, who had subsequently basked publicly in their 'benevolence'. The worst of them had been Commodore – now Admiral – Hiram Black.

He let out a snort, wondering whether those no-frat rules were actually a blessing in disguise. For all his past as an operative for whomever he had worked, his security officer was quite inept at hiding his obvious crush on the ship's communication officer. Jon doubted Reed knew what he was getting himself into if he really dated someone as feisty as the slender girl behind the comms console.

But the truth was, Starfleet was very 1800. They had trusted him with the captaincy of Starfleet's first warp five ship, but somehow they didn't trust him to keep duty and private lives separated between him and Erika, letting him and her know that they preferred a break-up. That was just typical of a bunch of people who had never been farther from home than Jupiter. Did they really think they could make a whole ship of people live like nuns and monks?

Some of Trip's personnel had been on the construction crew for months now and even without having shipped out yet, at least eight of them had been dumped already because their significant other couldn't cope with weeks of separation. So unless Starfleet could supply him with eighty-five eunuchs, they'd better work something out for ships that were sent out into deep space for very long periods of time.

There was one group of people who knew how to handle long stints in deep space – the boomers, and he had one of them on his ship. That was why he was currently waiting for the resident space boomer to join him for breakfast.

A few minutes later said boomer entered the room, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Take a seat, Travis," Jon said with an encouraging smile. "This is breakfast, not a court hearing."

"Thank you captain," the young man answered and sat down, looking at him expectantly.

Jon pointed at the bread rolls before addressing his guest.

"You've spent your whole life in space, haven't you?"

"Born and raised on the  _Horizon_ , sir."

"Well, I could use some of your experience," Jon said. "And I expect everything that's said to stay in this room. Understood?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"How were your parents handling intimate relationships between people?" he asked, straight to the point.

"They usually didn't have to, sir. Nobody would be crazy enough to sign on to a boomer crew and leave his spouse behind. We had cargo runs that took a year and longer. In fact my parents only hired married couples or at least engaged ones, so that dad got to officiate at some weddings."

Jon chuckled at the enthusiastic grin of the young pilot.

"May I speak freely, sir?" Travis asked suddenly.

"Go ahead," Jon said with a nod.

"What Starfleet's doing is crazy. Just two days ago we got this pamphlet from command reminding us of the no-frat regulations. What do they expect? The crew is two-thirds male, most of them either single or leaving their better halves behind, and if they think the girls don't have needs too they are living in a fantasy world. Two months out we could have a crisis on our hands. It just doesn't work."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Jon sighed and saw that Travis was dead serious. The young man was enthusiastic about his new job and was usually grinning most of the day, but right now he wore a distinct expression of concern.

"I don't want to get people in trouble, but there is discontent among the crew, especially the noncoms. Some are thinking about resigning after that… I don't even know a printable word to call it... pamphlet."

"Signed by Admiral Black?" Jon asked dryly. The young ensign nodded.

"Right, that's it," Jon said and threw his napkin down. "Time for Starfleet command to get a reality check. You've been a great help, Travis."

"By the way sir," the young man said, audibly apprehensive. "About Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed. Are they in trouble?"

"Only if they hook up with the respective women they seem to fancy," Jon replied deadpan. There was no point in pretending that Travis didn't know it yet as both Tucker and Reed were utterly useless at hiding their crushes on T'Pol and Hoshi.

Travis laughed.


	8. New Challenges

"Nah, always wanted to be an engineer. If it was for the top brass, I'd probably be a Captain by now and would be looking forward to spending the rest of my career behind a desk at R&D."

"So this whole good ol' boy routine is just a ploy to stay out of the spot-light on the promotion list?"

"Now you got it, Malcolm. But after our stunt yesterday, I'd say promotion is the least of our worries right now."

Hoshi didn't believe her ears. The very same men who'd beaten the raw stuffing out of each other the day before were now sitting on their bunks in the brig, exchanging stories. Well, at least it looked as if they had gotten their problems out of the way, even if she didn't care much for the methods of how this change had come along.

She and T'Pol handed over the PADDs with Captain Archer's orders and the guard opened the doors to let them in.

"Ensign, Subcommander," the men offered their greetings to the women and each of them looked at their respective visitor with visible apprehension and embarrassment.

"We've come to do our Florence Nightingale bit, but if you think we're doing it because we've become pub brawl groupies, forget it," Hoshi said. She was still disappointed in Malcolm and Trip, but a good night of sleep and seeing them talk quite civilly started to dissipate her anger. But it was to too early to show that. "The Captain wants to keep the number of people who see you like that to a minimum."

She carefully pushed the Lieutenant back until he was lying on the bunk looking up at her. Even though he was technically a superior officer, he seemed willing to let her take the initiative and strictly speaking he didn't really have much choice as being in the brig meant that he was temporarily suspended and his rank meant nothing. His swollen lip made it hard to guess if he was smiling or in pain, but Hoshi couldn't shake the impression that he even enjoyed being mothered a bit.

The swelling of his face had receded to a degree, but he still looked rather shabby with his skewed mouth due to the remaining swelling of his lip. She carefully applied an ice spray and some balm to his lip and the cut on his eyebrow. After that the young officer started to feel along his jaw to see if there were any swellings or painful spots. The lack of reaction indicated that this was not the case.

"I'm awfully sorry, Ens... Hoshi," he said and she could easily see the sincerity of his words in his eyes. For the first time a fleeting smile returned to her face when he used her name for the first time.

"You should be, but it's in the past now," she returned softly, feeling for other hidden injuries without it being strictly necessary. It was obvious that Trip had not landed too many successful punches. T'Pol would have a much larger task icing up and applying the gel to all the damaged bits on the other man's face.

" _How does the Commander look?"_ she asked T'Pol in Vulcan.

 _"Fairly comfortable, but heavily damaged,"_ came the reply, but not from T'Pol, but Trip.

Hoshi's head snapped up and she saw T'Pol looking at her with a raised eyebrow through the glass wall that separated the two cells.

"Are there any other hidden linguistic talents we need to know about, Commander?" Malcolm asked and for the first time Hoshi heard the man chuckle. She decided that it was a very nice sound.

"Standard, Russian, Spanish, Gaelic and Vulcan," the inhabitant of the neighboring cell reported. "Well, Vulcan's probably the least fluent on the list, but I can hold my own in a conversation, especially if it's about engineering topics."

=/\=

"Why did you learn Vulcan?" T'Pol asked, carefully applying some more of the cooling gel to his discolored and still swollen eye with her index finger.

"I've been part of the engineering corps since the warp 3 program and that meant we had your people constantly looking over our shoulders. One thing that always drove me mad was that they – of course – always spoke in Vulcan among themselves and I hated being left out. There was one professor though – a guy named Solan. We really got along well and, bless his patience, he taught me some Vulcan so I would know when our 'friends' plotted something I didn't like."

"You have met Professor Solan?" T'Pol asked, following Hoshi's example by running her fingers lightly along his jaw to check for hidden injuries.

"I'm not sure I was  **supposed**  to meet him, but yeah, I did. He was the only one remotely interested in actually helping us instead of just slowing things down. One day he sort of disappeared and I guess since the meeting yesterday we know why."

"Solan is of our clan," T'Pol confirmed, looking down at her charge. He appeared inordinately content with her touch, a feeling that to her surprise was fairly mutual. Since the light touch gave her an insight to the Commander's emotional condition, she sensed a chaotic mix of remorse about his fight with Lieutenant Reed, gratitude for her gentle touch, but also anger and sadness about losing contact to the Vulcan Professor he seemed to hold in high esteem.

"To think that they probably offed the man or locked him up somewhere makes me want to launch immediately and let Malcolm test his weapons on the High Command," he said, and she could easily sense his anger simmering close to the surface. Even without any touch-telepathic contact his emotion was clearly visible and the badly discolored eye made his mien even more menacing.

"Violence will lead to nothing," she tried to soothe him. "Solan is safe for now. He has neither been terminated, nor deported, but this is not the time to speak of it."

=/\=

Jon walked toward the brig, having just returned from his meeting with Admiral Forest. Unsurprisingly he had preached to the choir. Maxwell wasn't the problem, not even most of the other Starfleet bigwigs. The problem had a name – Black – Hiram Black, Admiral.

If it was down to this ultra-conservative zealot, all unmarried female personnel would have to undergo a virginity test before enrolling in Starfleet. But apparently the damn bigot hadn't had a problem with visiting Hoshi's gambling bashes every other weekend, watching her step out of her clothing to entertain her crowd. And he had it on good authority that Black always came  **only**  to watch Hoshi strip. What a two-faced scumbag.

Thankfully they had worked out a solution that did not require Black's approval and would make life somewhat palatable on a ship light years from home for a very long time. Since Forest had the final authority as far as mission specific orders were concerned, they had simply worked out a lengthy standing order. It was perfectly within Starfleet regulations, although perhaps not perfectly in the spirit of them. Now it was just a case of implementing the compromise without turning his ship into a flying high school, and if the conduct of his two senior bridge officers was anything to go by, the project didn't exactly start promisingly.

When he arrived at the brig he found his two prisoners chatting amicably. That was something new, as he had barely heard Reed speak so far except during the meeting with Forest and Soval. Both men went silent when they noticed his arrival.

After ordering the guard to open the cells, he ordered him to report back to security and the crewman left quickly. With a curt 'come out' gesture with each hand, he ordered his two rogue officers out of their cells. Both came to stand to attention before him. T'Pol and Hoshi seemed to have done a good job as assistant nurses, as except for the cut above Reed's eyebrow and the monstrous shiner on Trip's face, they were almost looking human again.

"You will be relieved that Starfleet will not press charges of assault on a fellow officer," he started without preamble. He could see that both would like nothing more than to sigh in relief, but he shot them a stern glance to make sure they continued to stand to attention. "Technically you were engaged in a legal sports activity, even if it got somewhat out of hand. You will, however, have the distinction of being the first crew members of this ship who earned themselves a reprimand for both violating fairness in sport and failure to observe mandatory safety precautions during a sports activity. Neither of you was wearing the mandatory head protector nor were you wearing cups to protect the family planning."

He continued to pace up and down before them slowly, now and then checking their reactions. Even Trip had managed to set up a face that showed little of what was going on in his mind.

"Needless to say, that reprimand will remain in your file for three years and that means you're out of the running when it comes to promotions for that duration," he lectured and caught the fleeting smile on the engineer's face.

"I know, Commander, for you that's not even a punishment," he said ironically. "But to make sure you will learn your lesson, I have decided that the extra energy you seem to possess will need to be channeled into more productive activities."

"You, Lieutenant Reed, have a certain non-approved foreign object up your rear end, according to a theory of our communications officer that I overheard yesterday," he decreed, relishing the distinct look of uneasiness on Reed's face. "It is therefore decided that you will bear the responsibility of a morale officer on this ship. You will oversee cultural and recreational activities of the crew in order to keep the crew's morale as high as possible."

"W-with all due respect, Sir," the Brit stammered. His look of unease had given way for one of horror.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" he asked and fixed the man with a hard stare.

"Wouldn't that be a task more suitable to someone, who is more... uh... socially adept than I?"

"Exactly that is the reason why I'm giving the job to you," Archer said, feeling a bit like he was twisting the knife, but he didn't feel the least bit guilty. "We're going to be away from home for a long time and you just admitted yourself that your social skills could use improvement. Take it as a learning experience. Our communications officer will surely be amendable to help you, if you ask nicely and practice smiling beforehand."

Jon whipped around when he heard a badly suppressed chuckle from Trip.

"You, Commander, should not laugh prematurely," he warned the engineer. "Since you seem to have a rather healthy need for movement to the point that you almost run yourself ragged, I've found you a nicely sedate activity to calm down once in a while."

Jon had to fight a laugh of his own when he saw the grin vanish from Trip's face in a hurry. The man was in trouble and he knew it.

"One of the first pieces of information Lieutenant Reed will encounter in his new capacity as the morale officer is the fact that Ensign Rao from Science is an accomplished painter and expert in alien artistry. She has offered to run a painting and sculpturing seminar for interested crew members."

"You don't want me to take up painting, do ya, Sir?" his first officer protested.

"Why, no, Commander," he said with a hint of righteous mischief. "You have volunteered to pose as a model for them should the need for one arise."

"Cap'n, I'm the first officer!" Trip complained with a look of shocked indignation.

"Where do the Starfleet regulations say 'Thou shalt not make for thyself a carved image or any likeness of the First Officer', Commander?" Archer asked back and could see Trip's posture slump in defeat.

"At ease," he ordered. "You will return to your quarters and get reacquainted with unrestricted movement for a while. I expect both of you in my ready room at 1400 to receive the latest orders from Starfleet. Trip, you will stop by at sickbay and get yourself an eye-patch. I'd rather have you look like a pirate than a bar brawler. The official cover story is that the two of you were attacked by a group of drunks while you were on the surface. I expect you to stick to that story. Dismissed."

He watched the two men leave hurriedly.

=/\=

Trip entered the ready room. T'Pol, Phlox and Malcolm were already there, so with his arrival all department leaders were present. That meant there were quite some substantial changes on the menu as Phlox wouldn't be called to a briefing unless it concerned literally the whole crew.

"Starfleet has finalized our mission profile and as a result there are several substantial changes in Starfleet regulations that apply specifically and only to this crew," the Captain began. "The full text of the standing order is currently being put in writing by Admiral Forest's staff, but I'll give you the general overview already."

"First of all, the mission length limit has officially been changed from three months to five years. We will probably start with a stint of no longer than two years, but five years is the planned standard length for exploratory missions in the future."

"That's one helluva a long journey," Trip said. They all were enthusiastic about going out exploring, but the reality of being away from the home planet and the family for a full five years gave a whole new perspective to it.

"Indeed," the Captain agreed. "As a result of that we need to take measures to avoid cabin fever and boredom as we could be on the way for months before encountering a planet suitable for shore leave. That's why you will all collect suggestions and ideas from your respective departments for recreational and cultural activities and forward them to Lieutenant Reed."

Trip hid a grin behind his hand when he saw Malcolm's frustrated eye-roll that was well hidden from the Captain, but quite clearly visible to him. Obviously the Brit didn't like being reminded of his new job. But then he remembered that Malcolm would at least not end up sitting still on a dais for hours in a toga – or perhaps even worse – without one. The grin vanished as quickly as it had come.

"The alcohol restrictions are being eased. Beer and wine may be consumed in reasonable quantities between the end of the shift and six hours before the start of the next one. That means, your brewery installation you've got hidden away somewhere in engineering will be relocated to the galley, Commander."

Trip's head snapped up. How the hell did the captain know? Did someone of his engineering team blab? Malcolm seemed to have guessed his thought and put a little pager on the table.

"The allergy scans," he explained dryly. "Every allergy case among the crew is registered in the medical database and regular scans taken to warn the respective crew members if their respective allergen is found in potentially dangerous quantities on the ship."

"And crewman Nijman in science is allergic to hops," the Captain supplied with a triumphant smile.

"Ok, ok," Trip relented. "We'll relocate it to the galley, but I insist that the people running it now are allowed to continue to do so. I'm not going to have engineering's reputation trashed by substandard brew."

"Granted," the Captain acknowledged with a nod. "While we're at it, Commander, I think I saw a swimming pool in the ship's schematics."

"C47," Trip confirmed. "But it's not operational. Somehow everyone forgot about the little detail of what happens if the grav-plating conks out and eight hundred tons of water form into a huge honking bubble."

"I take it you have started to consider remedies for this 'little detail'?" the Captain asked back.

"We're working on it," Trip answered without looking up, making notes on his PADD. "But frankly it isn't very high on our todo-list. Once we've launched, I think we can work something out."

"It doesn't need to be ready tomorrow, but keep it in mind," the Captain instructed and Trip could see there was more as ship's commanding officer hesitated slightly. Whatever was coming next must be a humdinger.

"As soon as the ship moves out of space dock under its own power, the regulations against fraternization are summarily suspended on a probational basis. The impact on discipline, crew efficiency and morale will be reviewed every three months. If no significant problems arise for a full year, the regulations will be rescinded for good."

Trip's mind worked overtime. Summarily suspended? That was a major concession on behalf of Starfleet.

"Just a minute, Cap'n," he started to ask. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

"I'm fairly sure it does," the Captain acknowledged. "Both personal relationships as well as non-committal intimate contact between consenting adults is permitted without restrictions regarding rank difference or position in the chain of command. This right can be rescinded, however, if the respective individuals fail to separate duty and private life."

Trip shook his head. That didn't sound like a good plan.

"You have concerns, Commander?" the Captain asked.

"This may come as a surprise, but the non-committal sex bit doesn't sound like a good idea. It could get messy, not to mention that we don't really want to become known throughout the galaxy as the 'chlamydia bomber'."

To Trip's surprise T'Pol sided with the Captain. He had expected her to think the same.

"Restricting intimate contact to committed partnerships is impractical. Such a restriction cannot be governed efficiently in any case. I submit it is more practical to either permit every form of consensual intimate contact or prohibit it altogether. Doctor Phlox can set up a regime of regular screening of sexually active crew members for sexually transmitted diseases. If we restrict intimate activities to committed relationships, close to a third of the crew will involuntarily still be subjected to deprivation of intimate activity."

"I concur," the Doctor chipped in. "Two thirds of the crew are male and only one third female, and there are a small number of transsexual individuals. Since we do not record sexual orientation, the imbalance could be lessened or even aggravated depending on how many homosexual individuals we have of each gender. If this remarkable concession by Starfleet is to be effective in any way, we should allow crew members to have contact with more than one intimate partner if they choose to do so."

"Well, good luck organizing enough contraceptives, doctor," Trip said. This still sounded like a bad idea. He was the last to spurn a one-night stand if the pressure in the cooker reached critical mass, but it could create problems down the line, especially with so many guys still ending up not getting laid. Unless Starfleet had assigned a few nymphomaniacs to the crew, some guy would snap at some point.

"Well, Doctor, if I'm informed right about the family structures of Denobulans, you would be the foremost authority on the topic," the captain half stated, half asked.

"Indeed."

"In that case I want you to work out some rules and educational programs to ensure that this crew won't implode in a few months."

"I shall do my best, captain," the doctor replied and Trip wondered just how ridiculously wide that grin could get if the doc really tried.


	9. Escalation

**Escalation**

_Ten days later..._

Captain Archer had just demanded that he made his way to the situation room on the double so by the sound of it, it was rather urgent. Not wanting to let the Captain wait for too long Trip to ran out of engineering and straight into Anna Hess, who was walking along the corridor towards the chamber to start her shift. With a loud thud they crashed down to the ground and Trip came to a stop on top of his second in command, his face buried between her humongous breasts. Anna giggled and playfully slung her arms around him.

"N-nother time p-perhaps, Lieutenant, I'm sorta bus..busy right now," he stuttered, climbing off her, embarrassed and confused. He held out his hand and helped the widely grinning woman up. He felt that his face must be a nice shade of purple right now.

"Sorry," he muttered and sped off.

"I'll hold you to that promise, chief," he heard her call after him with a giggle.

"Hold it!" he called out as the doors to the turbo lift were closing, and Malcolm pressed the button to open them again. Trip slid into the compartment and Malcolm closed the doors.

"Are you ok?" Malcolm asked as the lift started up and Trip felt the scrutinizing look of the Brit. "I'm not sure human skin is supposed to be that particular shade of purple."

"Just had a bit of an accident," Trip muttered, hoping that his former nemesis would let it go, but – alas – he didn't.

"What sort of... accident?" the man asked back and Trip felt like throttling him for his shit-eating grin.

"I ran Anna over and landed face first between the airbags; happy now?" Trip said hastily and to his astonishment, for the first time in the three weeks he'd known him, he saw Malcolm guffaw.

"I don't think we have time for that, Lieutenant," he said, trying to hide his embarrassment behind formality.

"I'm not the one who said I need to loosen up."

"You picked a helluva time for starting to do that, Malcolm," Trip groaned ironically and ran out of the lift after it had stopped.

=/\=

T'Pol wondered if the two men had gotten into an argument again when they entered the situation room. Lieutenant Reed looked rather uncharacteristically amused, while Commander Tucker was the one looking rather displeased. His face was flushed too, although that could just be a result of the exertion of running all the way from engineering to the situation room.

Once they were all seated, she directed her attention at the captain.

"The situation with the Vulcans is escalating," the captain started. "Three hours ago assistant ambassador Tos was apprehended by security forces, when he placed a listening device in Admiral Forest's office. I understand he has done that on a regular basis with not much success, because he found them every time. This time, however, Starfleet decided to put an end to it."

"They're not going to let that go easily," she heard Malcolm say.

"No they won't," the captain agreed and T'Pol could see a growing concern on all the faces around her. She started to wonder what that would mean for her place on the crew. She was a Vulcan after all.

"T'Pol, do you know someone called T'Runa?"

She had to force herself not to show her apprehension when she heard the name.

"T'Runa is my former handler," she admitted.

"Handler? What were you – a circus elephant?" came the interjection from Commander Tucker. She could clearly hear from his voice that he was offended.

"The term 'direct superior' is perhaps more palatable to you, Commander," she said in his direction and his scowl receded. She assigned me to my missions when I was working for the Ministry of Security."

"I knew it," she heard Lieutenant Reed mutter under his breath with what sounded like triumph.

"What did you know, Lieutenant?" the captain asked.

"When Ensign Sato found out that the listening devices were operating on Embassy frequencies, I suspected that Subcommander T'Pol had planted them," he admitted. "She was assigned to the embassy before coming aboard and has made an almost suspiciously great effort to integrate herself with the crew. Her rather specialized capabilities led me to believe that she is not a mere ambassadorial aide."

"A most logical conclusion, although we now know that I did not install them," she said and looked at him neutrally. "As for my effort to integrate with the crew: I have always been most interested to learn about humanity and wished to interact with your people more. In fact it is this interest and lack of distance to humans that led to the decision to recall me."

"I'm sorry, Subcommander," the Lieutenant apologized.

"There is no need to apologize. You were merely doing your job."

"Now that we've got that settled," the Captain interrupted and he appeared somewhat impatient to her. He went on quickly to the issue that was obviously most important to him.

"I suppose since this T'Runa was your 'handler', she is coming for you? We have received information from Starfleet intelligence that she is aboard a Vulcan cruiser headed for Earth."

"Undoubtedly," she confirmed. "Captain, I wish to request being released from my assignment. T'Runa is unusually ruthless. She will not hesitate to kill crew members in her attempt to apprehend me. I believe I can go into hiding on Earth," she offered, not wanting to endanger her shipmates.

"No you won't," the captain refused. "We are not turning our backs on you."

"Captain," she started to protest, but was cut off by her commanding officer.

"Attention everybody!" he ordered sharply and she shot up from her chair to stand to attention as did all the other attendees.

"T'Pol of Vulcan, are you willing to resign your commission from the Vulcan High Command and accept a brevet commission as a United Earth Starfleet Officer?" he asked in an official tone.

"I have already resigned my commission to the High Command," she replied deadpan and noticed that she had obviously disrupted a carefully rehearsed train of thought as her commanding officer looked at her in confusion.

"At ease," he said and all officers sat down again.

"T'Pol, had you considered letting me know about such a change?" he asked. She wondered why he appeared dissatisfied, considering that from his earlier question it was now clear that her resignation was a welcome change.

"I've only sent my resignation notice to the embassy last night. I thought it was appropriate to wait for a delivery confirmation from the High Command before informing you about it."

"Why last night?" the captain asked.

"I received a coded transmission, forwarded by the embassy, that the High Command found my intelligence reports about the ship and its crew less than satisfactory."

"Intelligence reports?" her superior and the ship's security officer asked loudly in unison.

"You've sent intelligence reports to the High Command, Subcommander?" Lieutenant Reed asked in a very clipped voice. He was visibly displeased.

"No, Lieutenant," she replied. "That is what the High Command finds so disagreeable about them – their absence."

She could hear Commander Tucker laugh and his exclamation "Attagirl!" could only mean some kind of approval or encouragement. She made a mental note to ask Ensign Sato about it, but the young female seemed rather busy at the moment, tapping her PADD repeatedly.

"So let me get this straight," the captain summarized with an amused look. "They expected intelligence reports about us and you sort of 'forgot' to do that. And when they reminded you of it, you told them where to shove it."

"Not in those exact words, but essentially – yes," she replied dryly.

"Your confirmation has arrived. We received it twenty minutes ago," Ensign Sato supplied and T'Pol could see that the young woman was deeply unsettled. She had apparently accessed the communications logs from her PADD and found the transmission.

"What is it Hoshi?" the captain asked.

"I suppose the words 'treason' and 'death sentence' are not normally part of a resignation confirmation?" she asked back, looking physically ill.

"Right, that's it," their commanding officer said, visibly angered. "Hoshi, contact Starfleet right after this meeting and tell Admiral Forest we will go with the backup plan."

"Aye, Captain."

"T'Pol," he said and she looked back at him. "You haven't yet answered the second part of my question. Are you prepared to accept a field commission from Starfleet?"

"I am, Captain."

"Attention!"

All officers sprang to attention again. "Repeat after me," he instructed and she acknowledged his instruction with a nod. She started to repeat the text passages each time prompted to do so by a very subtle nod from her commanding officer.

"Having received a field commission as an officer in Starfleet, I do solemnly swear,"

"that I will support and defend the Constitution of United Earth against all enemies, foreign or domestic,"

"that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;"

"that I will well and faithfully carry out my assigned duties and responsibilities;"

"that I will obey the orders of the Prime Minister, the Minister of Space, and the officers appointed over me, according to Starfleet regulations and the laws of United Earth."

"Attention to orders!" the Captain barked out and T'Pol controlled the reflex to repeat that, too. "Computer, start recording. Today, March 15th 2151 T'Pol of Vulcan has sworn the oath of allegiance to Starfleet as witnessed by Captain Jonathan Archer, Commander Charles Anthony Tucker III, Lieutenant Malcolm Stuart Reed, Ensign Hoshi Sato and Ensign Travis LeVar Mayweather. By the authority invested with me by Starfleet Command, I grant to T'Pol of Vulcan a brevet commission as a Starfleet officer in the rank of Commander. Computer, stop recording."

T'Pol accepted the congratulations of her elated fellow officers and indulged Ensign Sato patiently when the young female embraced her.

=/\=

Trip sat back on his chair. He had been tempted to pull T'Pol into a hug after he had seen Hoshi do so, but he'd decided against it. He now looked back at the captain, who seemed to have more information waiting for them.

"The Vulcan cruiser with T'Pol's former agent aboard is about a day away from Earth, which means we have less than twenty-four hours to launch. Trip, what's the status in Engineering?"

"Snafu. We still have twenty-two of the plasma-flow regulators waiting to be exchanged and each of them takes close to two hours to change."

"Why so long?" was Jon's return question.

"Because someone thought it'd be a good idea to install them behind access hatches that not even a rat gets into without an effort. For each and every one you have to stop the plasma flow, let the ducts cool down, crawl in and change it and then reestablish the plasma flow."

"Then put more people on it," the captain demanded. "T'Pol's life could depend on it."

"I haven't got any more people who can do it. That's why I've changed all sixty something of them so far by myself. Anna, Taylor and Rostov are the other ones, who know how to install the Marconi type regulators. Neither of them even fits in these things. Taylor probably would, but we need her on the EPS grid. We thought we could try to change them without interrupting plasma flow and I tried once. It put my hand in a bandage for three days and fried the regulator. Only chance we could make it any faster would be working with a second person, but that person mustn't be any bigger than perhaps Hoshi. But we don't have anyone so small in engineering."

"If I'm the right size, what are we waiting for?" Hoshi asked.

"You forget that I got to read all your service records. You were all assigned when I was still ranking officer. And yours says quite clearly that you are claustrophobic. Have you any idea how small those hatches are? Anna can't even get into them at all with that massive rack of hers and Rostov can't either, because he's hurling weights in the gym all through his spare time. I can't do that to you, Hoshi."

"What a choice to make," she answered ironically and he could see the fear, but also a grim determination in her eyes. "Me being scared or T'Pol being dead. Only one of those conditions is permanent. I'll do it."

=/\=

"Bring those containers over here!" Travis ordered. "They go to cargo bay two, section A."

This was it. The ship was about to launch. Knowing that the Vulcans were coming after T'Pol, Starfleet had decided to assign  _Enterprise_  to a cargo run to Starbase 74 in the Taurus system. Normally that task would be one for the warp 3 freighter  _Siberia_ , but  _Enterprise_  could make the run in ten days as opposed to the three weeks it would take the other vessel, and it was a perfect excuse to get the ship away from Earth. Faked 'emergency requests' from the starbase had made the story more believable.

He felt good, sort of returning to the boomer days for once. Organizing the loading, storage and unloading of cargo took him back to his youth and he felt pleased by the fact that Captain Archer seemed willing to use his expertise in the matter.

Normally logistics were part of the engineering department and it would have been Lieutenant Hess or Ensign Mattes overseeing the transfer of supplies from the  _Siberia_  to  _Enterprise,_ but the ship's commanding officer had opted to entrust someone with the job who had done exactly that sort of work all his life.

The grin never left his Travis's face as he herded the many crewman sent to help into the right directions.

=/\=

"Do you think I could do it with my eyes closed?" Hoshi asked and Trip could hear the fear in her voice.

He took her hand and held it as if they were two teenagers on a date.

"No problem, I'll just put your hands where they need to be. You are one brave little thing Hoshi."

"That remains to be seen," she sighed. Her voice still trembling.

Trip felt that holding her hand calmed her down and he decided that the weird appearance of two officers walking the corridors hand-in-hand was better than letting her stew in her fears all the way to engineering. There were only two people on the ship with any chance to fit into that hatch beside him – Hoshi and Liz Cutler. He had contemplated trying to get the job done with Cutler, but she would be needed to help Phlox patch them up in sickbay if they were too slow on only one of the twenty-two remaining regulators, so there was really no other choice than hoping that Hoshi would somehow pull through. He hated putting her through this, as he liked the young ensign quite a bit.

Once they came near the hatch he could feel how Hoshi started to shake with apprehension. He spun her around and hugged her close.

"You'll be fine, Hoshi," he whispered and he felt that she relaxed a little, if not much.

He grabbed a regulator out of his box and directed his new assistant to sit down on the floor. He could see that she had her eyes squeezed shut already. He lay down in front of the cramped hatch and with gentle directions he made Hoshi to do so as well. His right arm was behind her neck and he hooked his hand into her right armpit; putting the new regulator on his chest, he grabbed the opening and dragged them into it by sheer force. He could feel Hoshi helping a bit with her feet.

"Stop," he said and carefully removed his right arm from under her, which wasn't very easy in the cramped space. He took her hands and put them on either side of the wonky regulator.

"When I say 'now', you just pull on it, but not too hard or you'll knock the wind out of yourself," he instructed. "Just throw it to your right. We haven't got more than a second. Ready?"

"R-ready," she said in a scared voice.

He took the new regulator off his chest and aligned it properly, so he only had to shove it in. "Ok, three, two, one,  _now_!"

Hoshi pulled and emitted an 'oof!' sound as the part landed heavily on her chest. A clanking sound could be heard as she let it fall to the right. He shoved the new one in as soon as her hands were away. A few sparks flew, but nobody was burned.

One down – twenty-one to go.

=/\=

Hoshi felt his strong hands put hers on the regulator again. Having done the routine for twenty-one times over the last eight hours, she now had a well tuned feeling for how hard she had to yank the part without painfully thumping her own chest with it.

Their uniforms were soaked in sweat by now and her wet hair was plastered to her forehead. Upon his signal she pulled out the part and threw it to her right. The now familiar crackling of sparks told her that he had managed to push the new part in.

Soon after she felt her body start to slide and she heard his labored breathing. He had dragged them in and out of those cramped access hatches no less than twenty-two times and he was audibly exhausted.

"You can open the eyes, darlin', we've done it," she heard him say.

She rolled over onto his chest and placed a quick kiss on his lips. "Thank you," she said gratefully and afforded him a big smile. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Wouldn't that be my text, Hoshi?" he asked back with smile that was equally grateful.

"You're really going to be busy in off-duty time, if you keep up like that, Chief," she heard a giggled statement from the left. Looking up Hoshi saw a grinning Anna Hess looking down on the pile on the ground. She took the lieutenant's offered hand and stood up, watching as Trip's second in command extended the same courtesy to him. She saw that she was whispering something in his ear while handing him two fresh uniforms, causing him to blush.

"There's a shower over there," he said, pointing to a door beside his office once Anna had resumed her other tasks. He handed her one of the clean coveralls.

"What about you?" Hoshi asked back.

"I'll wait until you're done," he said evasively, still blushing slightly.

"Don't be silly," Hoshi snorted and took him by the hand, dragging him toward the shower. "I need someone to scrub my back and so do you."


	10. The Naked Truth

"Okay, Okay, Hoshi, I'll be in a minute," the chief engineer relented and wiggled his hand free from hers. "I'll have to tell the captain."

She bounded ahead, while he pressed the call button. "Tucker to bridge"

"Archer. How does it look?"

"We're done here Cap'n. Have to take a shower but you can launch any time. Lieutenant Hess is here."

"I think we can wait until you've made yourself presentable, Trip."

He could hear the amused tone of his commanding officer, but he also saw the slightly hurt look on Anna's face; she didn't exactly understood the message as a show of confidence in her.

"Your call, Cap'n," he replied, rolling his eyes at the captain's 'people skills'. "But I didn't select my second in command for bein' dependent on me and I'd guess T'Pol would appreciate a launch as early as possible."

He heard a chuckle, before the connection ended and he followed Hoshi into the shower, watched by a grinning Anna Hess.

=/\=

"I can't believe Trip is giving this up for a  _shower_ ," the captain said, looking ahead at open space as the umbilical cords fell away from the hull. "Commander, since we're unlikely to make many scientific discoveries in the solar system, would you mind taking the comms console? I would suppose that our comms officer is on her way to her quarters for a shower, too."

With a nod T'Pol left her station and took Hoshi's place. Jon smiled faintly as she took out a cloth and wiped the ear-piece before putting it on.

"We have clearance to launch," the Vulcan reported after tapping keys in what seemed to him to be a rather random order.

"Ensign Mayweather, lay in a course to Starbase 74 and take us out. Half impulse."

"Half impulse, Sir."

Jonathan Archer sat back into his chair and smiled at Travis's enthusiasm. The day had finally come. The warp five engine – the work of his father's life was finally propelling a ship into deep space.

=/\=

Trip entered the changing room of the engineering shower and saw Hoshi saunter – already stark naked – into the adjoining room, which had five shower heads aligned next to each other. He had initially thought that Malcolm had been exaggerating when he waxed lyrical about Hoshi's tush while they were in the Brig. But seeing the exquisite arrangement he came to the conclusion that Malcolm had actually employed a good deal of British understatement, and the engineer had to fight the urge to whistle.

"Like what you see, Commander?" she asked nonchalantly as she glanced around at him.

He blushed, caught out in blatant ogling.

"S-sorry, I-I mean... I  _didn't_  mean to stare," he muttered, remembering that this was exactly why he had wanted to wait for her to be finished.

"It's okay, Trip," she said and he heard the water already running. "If I had been afraid of you looking, I'd have let you wait."

"Well, if Malcolm's memories of meetin' you for the first time are any indication, you're not exactly afraid of  _anyone_  lookin'."

He walked into the main room and opened the taps on one of the shower heads. There were no walls to separate the five shower heads on the wall, so he left one unused between himself and her to keep a respectful distance. He wasn't exactly shy or self-conscious, but it still felt weird being in the shower with the girl his buddy had unmistakably fallen for. He wondered if that tentative friendship they had developed would survive, if the Brit ever learned that they had taken the shower together as opposed to returning to their own quarters for it.

"How in the name of all that's holy did you get so much grime on your back?" she asked and he felt her scrubbing his back with a sponge.

"You haven't seen yours," he replied with a chuckle. "That stuff creeps in everywhere. Why'd you think we have a shower down here? The ship would be completely filthy within a week if we walked back to our quarters every time we need to get cleaned."

"Guess engineers aren't really self-conscious then," she mused, continuing her work on his back.

"Our department has the worst male-to-female ratio of the whole ship. We only have six women and all except Anna don't really get that dirty to begin with. So you rarely find anyone but guys in here – except for Anna o' course, but she's the galaxy's least shy person."

=/\=

He checked the read-outs before him and – yes – the weapons array was still perfectly aligned. Considering that their 'epic' journey had lasted all of fifteen minutes so far, Malcolm found it unnerving that he had already run out of schematics to check. He needed something to do or he would die of boredom. Sure, it beat continuing to be Harris's pet assassin, but he was never one to be idle for too long.

"Permission to be relieved by my deputy, Captain," he requested, and waited for the answer.

"You aren't a nervous flyer, are you, Lieutenant?" his commanding officer replied with a smirk that he found slightly irksome, though he took care not to reveal that fact. In his opinion, it was not professional practice to poke fun at one's officers in the presence of junior personnel.

"Actually no, sir." His own tone was stiffly formal. "I would like to get started on that... new assignment you gave me."

He fought down an indignant retort when he saw the captain's even more obvious amusement. Did the man think weapons were a  _joke?_

"Granted Lieutenant. I doubt we have much to shoot at in our own backyard. We go to warp in about two hours. Make sure you're back by then."

He acknowledged the order with a nod and waited for his deputy – Ensign Moravek – to arrive on the bridge.

=/\=

Trip took a large towel and wrapped it around Hoshi's hair while she was holding it in a bunch on top of her head. He folded it with the ease of long practice into what he used to call a 'long haired girl bathroom turban'.

"Someone had a long-haired girl friend once," she said appreciatively.

"Actually, no. But my baby sister has a long mane like you. Had to do that loads of times when we were kids or she'd start cryin' in frustration when she couldn't get it done. She's a brilliant architect, but she's got two left hands and all her fingers are thumbs."

They shared a grin.

"And you still remember how it's done?"

"It's hardly rocket science, is it? And it's like ridin' a bike – you don't forget it," he explained, busy toweling himself dry.

There was a comfortable pause.

"So, will you help Malcolm with his new job?" he asked casually as he began putting on his underwear.

"If he asks – why not? Too bad you don't need help with  _your_  new job."

He smirked off her amused barb.

"The captain should have selected you or Anna for it, considerin' you're both not shy to flaunt it. And besides, a woman is much nicer to look at than a hairy guy."

"Hmm, I don't know. I found you quite pleasant to look at," she said mischievously. Zipping up her uniform she prepared to go, but turned around again, smiling brightly at him.

"And besides, Commander, I bet the art group will be mostly women."

=/\=

T'Pol sat down at her terminal after the shift had ended. The first hours of warp flight had been pleasantly uneventful and in another forty-eight hours they would arrive at Starbase 74.

Three messages from Lieutenant Reed had arrived. The first one was an appointment for the next day for her hand weapons training with certification evaluation. She acknowledged the proposed time.

The other two messages were shipwide interactive announcements. She opened the first.

_Application for art class_

_Ensign Mayumi Rao will teach an art class, open to non-commissioned and commissioned personnel. Applications are to be sent using the attached form._

_I wish to take part in the painting and sculpturing class_

_a) as a student_  
b) as a model  
c) both

_If you selected model as a participatory option, select the appropriate option_

_a) only clothed depiction  
b) also nude or semi-nude depiction_

T'Pol thought about the proposal. It would help to integrate herself with the crew if she took part in recreational activities and an art class sounded like an acceptable proposal. A congregation to produce art was a perfectly acceptable recreational activity for a Vulcan and likely to be a sedate and quiet activity as no incessant 'small talk' would be required. In addition she knew that some Vulcans used painting as a preferred method of meditation.

The question was if she would restrict her participation to the role of a student or would actually volunteer as the subject of the produced paintings. Logic dictated that she, as a Vulcan, would be more adept at remaining still for extended period of time and therefore increase the chance of higher quality art to be created. The distinction between nude and clothed depiction was not readily understandable. The body remained the same whether it was clothed or not and was merely a shell for one's katra. She reasoned that it might actually help to decrease the still visible apprehension of her human ship mates regarding interaction with her if they learned that the Vulcan body, small differences like the spinal ridge notwithstanding, was actually almost same as that of a human – at least in outward appearance.

T'Pol chose options c) and b) respectively and submitted the form.

=/\=

Commander Charles Tucker III sat in a quiet corner of the mess hall, lazily stabbing at his salad.

"May I?"

He looked up and saw newly minted Commander T'Pol standing near his table carrying a tray with her food. He nodded his consent and indicated the empty chair across from him.

"Is there something wrong with your food, Commander?"

He looked up again. He had not really expected to be engaged in conversation as she usually preferred to eat in silence.

"Not really," he answered. "I just don't have a lot of appetite right now."

"If you wish to speak about what makes you lose your appetite..."

He thought about her roundabout offer. Hell, as first officer she might actually even mediate the inevitable conflict with the captain.

"It's about the message from Lieutenant Reed – the one about the art class. As a punishment for my brawl with Malcolm, I've been 'volunteered' to model for it."

"Would you have preferred a more severe punishment? Standing still for a period of time will most likely be challenging for someone with your obvious energy, but it is hardly a cruel punishment."

"Have you seen the 'options'?," he protested. "Both of them were pre-selected and locked against modification in  _my_  form. Forcing me to pose in the nude without my expressed consent is pushing it. I'm not self-conscious so if they really think they can stomach seeing me naked – fine, but I think I should have a say in this. I don't know who will be part of that class. It could get mighty awkward.

"Indeed you are right, and I concur. But I do not believe that there is reason to start a conflict with the Captain over it. As the first officer I shall make sure that your rights are strictly respected. It is fortunate that I have signed up for the class, too. I will be able to intervene immediately on your behalf should there be any unreasonable requests."

His heart skipped a beat or twelve. Of all the people on the ship who were interested in the art class,  _T'Pol_  would be part of it? He wasn't so sure if that was really helpful.

"May I ask a question, regarding this activity, Commander?"

"Sure." He put down his fork and mentally resigned himself to having a tough time. If he was going to have to have an unbelievably difficult conversation with the Vulcan, the mess hall sure wasn't the place he'd have chosen, even though they were far away from the few other occupants.

"The fact that there was a clear distinction between being drawn in a clothed or unclothed state on the form indicates that humans have problems with a state of undress?"

"Return question: Vulcans haven't?"

"No," she said. "There are many situations where an absence of clothing is required. For bathing, obviously; for medical checks; and sometimes at the height of summer, divesting yourself of your clothing can be necessary to prevent heat stroke. Not all Vulcan homes have climate regulation."

"But those are all activities you do more or less in private. Standin' there with each and every flaw in your physique bein' plainly visible to everyone in the room is something completely different!"

"I see," she answered.

That, of course, was the problem.  _Everybody_ would 'see'. The more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea. Being naked in front of somebody by choice was one thing. Being ordered to do it was a completely different ball game.

"Do Vulcans... draw? Or did you sign up to see what it is like?"

"Art is a most important part of our culture, as Vulcans do not normally make digital recordings of themselves. And expressing one's emotions through paintings is one of the very few ways such a thing is allowed, if only indirectly."

"An' I take it from your previous questions that that includes nude portraits."

She nodded, obviously intending to explain more fully. Before she did so, however, she looked around to ensure that there was sufficient empty space around them. He gathered that she was about to talk about something rather private.

"Vulcan marriages are arranged in childhood. Once the two betrothed reach the age of full maturity they have paintings produced of themselves and exchange them. Except for some clans with a more militant history, where both wear their clans' historic uniforms, those portraits are traditionally created without clothing."

His heart sank, and since she was obviously willing to share rather private details, he decided to go for the million-credits question.

"So somewhere on Vulcan one lucky guy has a naked paintin' of you on the wall?"

"These paintings are not put on display. But indeed, I did have an unclothed portrait of me created when I reached maturity, and presented it to my childhood betrothed."

Now his appetite was truly and utterly gone.

=/\=

Malcolm sounded the door bell on Commander Tucker's quarters. He doubted that leaving his shift thirty minutes early was part of the Southerners 'good ol' boy' facade and besides, since their reprimand, there was no longer a need to pre-empt an unwanted promotion by bending the rules a bit.

"I'm not home," came the knackered reply, and it was obvious that the Commander was about to run roughshod over the 'reasonable amounts' part of the relaxed alcohol restrictions. He quickly tapped in his override code and entered the quarters of the ship's chief engineer.

"I would hazard a guess that  _those_  stretch the boundaries of 'reasonable amount', Commander," he said, pointing at an array of beer bottles on the floor. Four of them were already empty and a fifth was in the hands of the cabin's occupant.

He wasn't really a people's person, but it was not too difficult to see that his new-found friend was badly frustrated. Only two things could frustrate a man like that – Aston bloody Villa's goal famine or a woman. Since Americans still managed to call a game 'football' that should actually be named 'hand-egg', the bet on option two was not a risky one.

"If you came here to chew me out for leavin' my station early, go ahead," the commander said tiredly.

"I don't think it's my job to 'chew out' a superior officer," he observed, contriving – under cover of picking up the bottles and putting them tidily on the desk – to look more closely at the man sprawled on the bunk. "I'd be more interested in finding out what made you do that. From what little I know about life, only a woman can make you as frustrated as you look."

"Help yourself," the Southerner said and pointed at the seven bottles of brew still waiting to be emptied. Malcolm hesitated for a moment – he still wasn't quite sure where the boundaries were in this changed universe – and then grabbed a chair, picked up a bottle and checked the label.  _Staropramen_  – an American with a taste for proper beer, now that was something he hadn't seen in a while. Though, inevitably, it was cold. Bloody Yanks and their weird ideas.

"So are you going to let me in on which of the ladies has frustrated you like that?"

"One thing at a time. First of all – I think you should know that... well... Hoshi and I took a shower together after we were done in Engineerin' yesterday. Nothin' happened, but since you have an eye on her, I think you should know."

It was mildly flattering that a blue eye watched his reaction cautiously. He knew his face revealed nothing.

"Well, if nothing happened, why are you so frustrated then? Unless of course you're frustrated  _because_ nothing happened." Understandable, if that was the case. He pictured Hoshi's singularly lovely body naked, clad in nothing but foam and running water, and shifted slightly to ease the resultant mild pressure in his groin.

"I'm not pissed off about that, I just didn't want you to find out from someone else and think I was goin' behind your back."

"And I appreciate the thought, Trip." Malcolm took a swig from his bottle. He savoured the taste of the first beer he'd had in many months. "From my recollection of meeting her, you should know that she doesn't give a toss about being seen naked. If she doesn't care, I don't quite see why you think I have any right to object." Silently he congratulated himself that his voice would convey nothing but unconcern. The fact that he was now fighting down a surge of unworthy envy was no-one's business but his own.

"Good to know you're not upset." That off his conscience, Trip moved on to what was  _really_  bothering him. "Well  _I_  certainly am, because I'm now the first human to be friend-zoned by a Vulcan."

Malcolm stood up and stood at attention, confident that surprise had disposed of his momentary difficulty. "A moment of silence for our brother in the friendzone," he recited in a grave voice. At least this age-old 'gentleman joke' from some time in the early 21st century got a chuckle out of the downtrodden engineer.

He sat down again, and took another swig while he considered the startling revelation. "Care to share any details? 'Friendzoned' implies she actually wants to be friends."

"Well she noticed that I was interested in her and, long story short, there's a guy she's engaged to in a Vulcan traditional way, but she can't and doesn't want to marry him, but she can't hook up with any other guy either as that would be the Vulcan equivalent of adultery. She wants to get the engagement broken, but can't because for some reason she doesn't even know herself, the government's insistin' that she marries the guy."

"The  _government?_  Since when does the bloody government have a say in who you marry?" Malcolm couldn't believe his ears.

"If it's a  _Vulcan_  government they apparently do. Now you have an idea why she hates them."

"Still doesn't sound like a flat-out rejection to me," the armory officer supplied, looking for a glimmer of hope – not, admittedly, something that he was all that used to doing; he was far more likely to do exactly the opposite, but Trip's dejection was pitifully real. He heard a long sigh from the chief engineer.

"She actually wants to be friends, and in her roundabout Vulcan way she thinks we already are. She hasn't ruled out that she one day 'might develop an affection for me', but thinks that her people would immediately deport her if she hooked up with an alien."

"Talk about xenophobia," Malcolm snorted indignantly, and took another swig from the bottle. "Still no idea why that frustrates you so much, though. I mean in all seriousness, the chance of rejection was always there."

"That's the point, Malcolm – it wasn't an all-out rejection. She told me some pretty private details and I'd appreciate that none of this leaves this room. She made it pretty clear that some years down the road there might be a chance. But how long will that be? Five months, five years, forever?"

The lieutenant grimaced. He'd read something somewhere, long ago, about it not being despair that destroys, but the 'thin sliver of hope'. It looked like he was being faced with a classic case of that here. Still, if it was as serious as it looked...

"And the problem is? If you think it's worth waiting, don't start another relationship. Just become part of the ship's bachelor pool. There's nothing to say you can't have a bit of fun now and then, just don't get serious."

He saw the incredulous – and upset – look on the engineer's face.

"Are you out of your mind, Malcolm? If I start sleepin' with other women I might just as well give up! Can't you see the goddamn problem I have here? Do I live like a monk for god knows how long, or do I give up altogether? Hell, it's been a year since Natalie and I broke up – it's hard enough already. But I don't want to miss out on the chance that one day, maybe that damn government of hers will be gone."

Malcolm snorted. What kind of subservience was that? Nevertheless, a part of him sympathized: it was, after all, an old enough romantic tradition: the knight patiently waiting as long as necessary for his lady to decide to grant him her favour. And he'd suspected for quite some time that Trip had a romantic streak the width of the M1 down his personality.

"Listen." He took a deep breath. Romance was one thing, but he was a realist when it came to relationships. "She told you she wants to be friends and she didn't rule out that one day, maybe, it could be more. Do you really think she expects you to be celibate until then, even though you're not in a relationship? What kind of 'friend' would she be to demand something like that of you? And you don't need to hop in the sack with another girl every night. You won't get the chance out here, for one thing."

"Dammit, it just feels wrong." Trip lay back and looked mulish.

"Suit yourself." Malcolm shrugged, exchanging the empty bottle for a full one. "If you want my take on it – talk to Hoshi, or better yet T'Pol herself. Hoshi and she meet often enough after duty hours. T'Pol's teaching her some old Vulcan dialects and Hoshi's teaching her to make sense of your gobbledygook."

"I think I'd be more comfortable asking Hoshi."

"Well, you know where to find her."

 _A bloody sight better than I do,_ he thought sourly.


	11. Crew Morale

**Crew Morale**

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed checked the faces around the table. All bridge officers plus Phlox were in attendance. Even Commander Tucker, who had tested his current beer limit the evening before, appeared reasonably bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

The captain had not thought highly of calling yet another meeting, citing the plan to keep the number to a reasonable minimum, but Malcolm had insisted; neither did  _he_  think highly of having been appointed the ship's morale officer. On any properly run ship, that was the job of the senior enlisted non-com, but alas, this wasn't a properly run ship –  _yet_.

If the ship's commanding officer insisted on having him as the morale officer, said commanding officer would just have to live with the fact that Malcolm Stuart Reed would do the job with the same thoroughness as he would care for the ship's armaments. And  _that_  included attending the required meetings.

Following the captain's handing over of the meeting's chairmanship, he began to outline his plans.

"As appointed by Captain Archer, I have worked out some suggestions for raising and maintaining crew morale. As part of that I have evaluated the current crew morale under the provision that for most parts of the crew the four days we have been under way would not provide a realistic picture. I did, however, encounter signs of exhaustion among the engineering crew, many of whom have been on the ship since the start of final assembly."

"Well, some could use some R&R," the chief engineer agreed.

"I will address possible solutions later," the Armory Officer continued. "One further problem that I have encountered is that there is too close a mingling of non-commissioned personnel and commissioned officers. This can cause problems in the future; as any boomer will readily explain, not everybody out here will be best pleased by our arrival and we will not get very far if officers find themselves unable to hand out difficult orders to crewmen they've become too familiar with."

"What are your suggestions, Lieutenant?"

The tone of the captain's voice left no doubt that he didn't like this observation, but one day he could be thankful for it when things weren't all that rosy and some bloody Klingons were taking pot-shots at them. He wished he could bring some examples from his time in the Section.  _That_  would convince him in a bloody hurry.

There were times when the less-than-respectful appellation ' _Amateur!'_ insinuated itself into his mind when he was dealing with his new captain. This was one of the times. He had to be even more than usually careful to employ the appropriate respect when this happened.

"I propose moving the situation room to the security office on D deck. I don't need two offices and the one in the Armoury is more than sufficient for the purpose. After we've freed up the current – more than oversized – situation room, we setup a wardroom instead. "

"Forgive my ignorance," Hoshi butted in. "What is a wardroom?"

"It is a mess-cabin for officers, ensign," he explained a little stiffly. "Every commissioned officer has his or her meal there. Traditionally it also contains recreational elements – a bar, billiards, or whatever else is deemed appropriate. I think we should be able to acquire some necessary items at the Starbase."

"What's your take on the idea, ensign? As a boomer you've been out in space long enough."

With satisfaction Malcolm took note of the fact that the captain was actively using the experience of people, irrespective of their rank. He did not always approve of the relatively lax command style of Captain Archer, but nothing was as bad as a commanding officer who failed to use the experience of his crew. It was good to see that the American was not such a captain.

"Lieutenant Reed has a point, sir. On a boomer ship things are relatively easy as most officers come from the same family and that means they keep to themselves anyway. You need a certain distance. If someone has to go out in an EV suit to repair a hull breach, there is a chance he or she doesn't come back. We certainly won't send out Commander Tucker, but he will have to give the order deciding who will go out. That can be a bit tricky if it has to be a buddy he shares a beer with every other day."

Malcolm nodded his agreement with the helmsman's assessment. Cleverly the young pilot had used an example that could become reality at any time, and not only in combat. His opinion of Ensign Mayweather went up a notch; that was a classic example of tactical thinking.

"The problem is – what good does it do to have that separation in conjunction with the suspended no-frats? Admiral Forest's order says that sex is allowed irrespective of rank. We separate from the non-coms during the meals, but we're allowed to take them to bed? That's a bit crazy, if you ask me."

Commander Tucker did of course have a point. Malcolm suspected, however, that in light of last evening's discussion, the chief engineer probably hoped that a re-installation of the no-frat rules would take the awkward decision off his hands whether to hope and wait for that elusive chance with T'Pol or do something to alleviate his quite obvious sexual frustration.

"I will address that point, as there are several points to consider with regard to Admiral Forrest's order. Before that I wish to address some other, less complicated points on my list. Is there any objection to setting up the wardroom?"

When none came, he ticked off the item on his list and assured the captain that he would send in the required request forms. He noted that Archer was looking slightly restive at this indication of his rigid adherence to protocol, and restrained a faint smile as he proceeded.

"There have been several proposals from the crew for possible cultural activities, ranging from card playing clubs to dances, which would work well with the two bands that have apparently been founded. Provided that Commander Tucker and his teams find a solution for the swimming pool in C47, there would be a substantial demand for it, including regular reserved hours for nude swimming if the demand for it is there."

With a sidelong glance at Ensign Sato, he saw the predictable – very interested – smile. That would mean Commander Tucker would probably be very regularly reminded of the need to find a solution for the gravity problem. That said, he himself had reservations as to whether huge bodies of water in a starship were really a good thing; gravity plating can go offline, and when it does, anything that can't be secured is liable to pose a very serious problem. Especially if this happened during a conflict. From his own point of view, of course, a huge body of water was  _always_ a problem – especially if he happened to be anywhere near it. And knowing his luck….

"I have a list of other proposals, but I submit that full disclosure here would be unnecessarily time-consuming. I will distribute a list of all proposed activities and every one of you can offer potential objections in written form."

Seeing the accepting nods from around the table (a relieved one, from the captain), he ticked the second box.

"Last but not least, there is the delicate topic of Admiral Forrest's standing order to allow sexual relations between crew members. Commander Tucker has voiced one of the reasons why there are potential problems with that. I would therefore suggest that we keep a ban on intimacy between non-commissioned personnel and commissioned officers to avoid the conflict that Commander Tucker has pointed out."

"Do we have any information about the change in potential partners that would bring about?" T'Pol asked. "The male-to-female ratio was already rather unfavorable for the males."

"It would change a little for the worse regarding non-commissioned personnel," Malcolm said. "We have twenty-four officers, of whom thirteen are male, one transgender and ten female. The male-to-female ratio among non-coms would therefore worsen slightly."

"So, basically we've got fewer than twenty women among the non-coms and over forty men. Give or take a few, who are homosexual on both sides, unless the twelve or something girls are raging nymphomaniacs, the whole thing wouldn't work out," the chief engineer argued. "As it is now, everybody is in the same boat as the crew doesn't know yet about the relaxed no-frats. So everybody knows nobody is getting laid. If we allow it, a few lucky guys get laid and the rest end up even more frustrated than they are now."

Yes, Malcolm thought to himself, the chief engineer  _definitely_  wanted the no-frats upheld. Granted, he had objected to them from the start, but the dilemma he found himself in had definitely strengthened his resolve.

"It's obvious that nobody in Starfleet has thought about the implications of sending out a ship for years," the lieutenant agreed. "Even the longest naval missions last no longer than six months and some of the engineering crew have gone a hell of a lot longer than that already without much chance to return to the planet."

He saw the slight blush creeping up Trip's face and continued his report.

"What is your take on it, Doctor?" he asked the Denobulan.

Phlox had been listening intently, clearly especially interested in this particular subject, and responded with enthusiasm.

"Commander Tucker's argument is of course valid, but I would strictly advise against upholding the ban on sexual contact. I will of course not give the name of any crew members, but I have already had several clandestine inquiries about the availability of contraceptives and personal lubricants. Especially the latter fact suggests that we have a significant number of homosexual males among the crew, or of course, females interested in anal intercourse. The gender imbalance might not be as sizeable as the raw data suggests."

"I concur with the doctor's assessment," Malcolm continued. "I think not implementing Admiral Forrest's order would only penalize what is inevitably going to happen. Some men will end up left out, but we can't solve that problem; it's inevitable, given the gender imbalance. But we might solve it for some. "

"Have you thought about measures to prevent my ship from becoming a flying swinger's club, Lieutenant?"

The captain's slightly acid question made it clear that he better  _had_  have done so.

He fielded it equably. If the thought occurred to him of what his father would have found to say about part of his son's duties now effectively requiring him to act as a pander for the crew, he suppressed it. The hard fact was that human nature was human nature, and if you can't prevent something the next best thing is to control it.

"As a matter of fact I have, sir. I have already talked to Ensign Sato about programming an interactive database – a sort of 'dating system' enabling crew members to match up with compatible partners without the need to have their sexual orientation or preferences disseminated via rumours. Further, I want to task Phlox with setting up a regime of quarterly health checks for all crewmen signed-up to the system. It is my hope that personnel will prefer finding possible intimate partners with the security of a health-check instead of relying on random matches with the associated risks."

"This would also allow females with a preference for changing partners to find them without having to announce that preference publicly," T'Pol supplied.

"Sounds like a plan," the chief engineer admitted. "But why hope that people use the system? Why not make it mandatory? If people are caught making out who have not been matched via your system, it's a breach of the rules. That way you prevent people from sidestepping Phlox's health-check and we don't end up as the 'Chlamydia bomber'. "

"Leaves the problem how you want to check that," Hoshi noted. "If people think it's a database where everybody can look up who has slept with whom, nobody in his right mind will use it."

"I'd hazard a guess that among eighty-five crewmen we'll find one who doesn't sign up," the chief argued. "Make that person an ombudsman, sworn to secrecy and only allowed to access such info as part of an official disciplinary inquiry."

Ah – another angle. Seeing that he would be outvoted in keeping the no-frats, the Commander would probably volunteer to be that person. Just any reason and any route to condemn himself to celibacy seemed okay for the engineer. Malcolm sighed inwardly. He'd debated mentally if he should drop a hint to Hoshi, in hopes that she would talk some sense into the daft haddock of a Floridian, but he was convinced that T'Pol had noticed Trip's evasive tactics. The Vulcan had been eyeing the engineer's face since the first time he had blushed.

"I think we're making this overly complicated," the captain interrupted. "As the captain there is no way I can take part in this. That means  _I_  will oversee the database, and access to the delicate data is forbidden – period. Attending the regular health checks with Phlox is mandatory for all, whether they are Mata Hari or the Pope. Who doesn't show up will be reminded of it by a night in the brig. That way it doesn't matter if they establish contact via that system or not."

"Sounds reasonable, sir," Malcolm agreed, surprised but mildly pleased that his CO was taking a firm line on this.

"One more problem," the captain noted. "The non-comms bunk with two in a room. That's not exactly the private setting they need. I don't want to end up with crewmen having sex in a Jeffries tube."

"Neither do I!" the chief engineer added, his tone heartfelt.

"We have three guest quarters. How about making one available for … private meetings?" Malcolm said. "We would of course need proper protocols for cleaning up afterwards. 'Leave it as you'd expect to find it', that sort of thing."

The Captain nodded. His expression was one of resignation; at a guess, this sort of thing wasn't something he'd expected to become involved in organizing.

"Implement it that way, Lieutenant. We'll go for now with your proposed separation of officers and non-comms. Program that system, document it and coordinate with Phlox about establishing appropriate regulations regarding the matter, especially safe sex. We don't want to come back with forty children aboard."

"Aye, sir."

=/\=

"Captain, may I speak with you?"

The ship's commanding officer turned away from the viewport, seeing that Commander T'Pol had not followed the other officers out of the room. He nodded his acceptance.

The Vulcan took up a strictly formal stance, hands clasped behind her back. Her chin was up, signifying that she was going to say something she suspected he wasn't going to like; he was beginning to read her already. Maybe there were more parallels between human and Vulcan behavior than he'd expected.

"Whilst I find your disciplinary ideas for Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed quite fitting the offense, and in a way perhaps even beneficial for both of them, there is one objection to your ordering Commander Tucker to volunteer as a subject for the art class. As over the course both clothed and unclothed models will be required, it would be a breach of the Commander's personal rights to order him to pose unclothed.

"Furthermore, in my estimation it would seriously and unjustifiably undermine his standing as an officer to be the object of an order that effectively exposes him to the ridicule of his juniors."

Jon exhaled. Doubts about the correctness of the sentence he'd handed down had already begun nagging at him; this was merely the confirmation of them. He was vaguely ashamed that he'd waited long enough for his XO to have to point it out to him, rather than rescinding it himself.

"You're right. I didn't think of that. Frankly, I didn't even expect that nude art would even come up in the class, let alone a man. We're not really that pleasing to look at."

"I would leave that determination to the art class, which will be predominantly female according to Ensign Rao. Apparently your order has not been handled with much secrecy and when the information was disseminated that Commander Tucker would be subject to being painted there has apparently been a sudden surge of interest among the female crew."

"I'm not good at it, am I?" he sighed dejectedly.

"Good at what?"

He indicated her to have a seat and sat down across from her. On a sudden impulse, he let his guard drop, and leaned across the table, trying to make her understand. If she even could; if she cared enough to try.

"A friend of mine, A.G. Robinson, and I were in the running to be selected as the pilot for the first warp two test flight. I worked my ass off in the simulator day and night. I wanted to be the first as it was my father's engine. In the end A.G. got the nod, and he said to me that I lost out because Starfleet needs a great Captain, not only a great pilot. At the moment I do not feel like a great Captain."

She took time to consider. It seemed as though she wanted to build some kind of bridge of understanding between them, and was aware how fragile the bricks could prove. When she spoke, it was slowly and with care.

"The fact that Starfleet selected you over any other candidate to command this ship would suggest that you have indeed acquired the necessary skills by now. And it was not my intention to question your qualification as a captain. You are supposed to be an expert on commanding a ship, not on art classes."

"Frankly, I thought they'd put the ship's captain on a chair in his dress uniform or on a pedestal dressed up as Emperor Nero," Jon said with a chuckle, mollified by her 'Vulcanized' vote of confidence. He was aware that she'd sidestepped the point that it  _was_ part of a captain's duties to impose appropriate punishments for infractions rather than the sort of infantile vindictive slap he'd delivered to Trip, but he appreciated her tact in doing so. "Thankfully there are other people on board who will alert me to any oversights, and I want you to keep that up. If you see that I've missed something, please take me aside and let me know."

She nodded her agreement.

"Since you seem to have dealt with Ensign Rao's class quite a bit, does that mean you've signed up for it too?"

"Indeed I did. Painting is a sedate activity that will give me a quiet time of contemplation."

"You aren't one of the women who've suddenly developed an affinity for art due to Trip?" he asked, unable to withstand the temptation to tease her in this suddenly more relaxed atmosphere between them. "I've noticed you've spent a lot of time with him since you came aboard."

"Commander Tucker and I have agreed to explore the option of developing a friendship," she reported matter-of-factly, as if becoming friends was a part of a maintenance checklist. "I find his company quite agreeable."

He took a breath.

"Normally this wouldn't be any of my business," he started carefully. "But I've been friends with Trip for the best part of a decade now. From where I'm sitting it does not look like he's looking for a friend. It's pretty obvious that he likes you a whole lot more than that."

"Commander Tucker is very easy to read. I am well aware of his attraction to me. There are, however, circumstances that preclude a romantic involvement of me with anyone, and those complications look unlikely to change anytime soon."

"Does he know?"

"We have spoken about the subject and Commander Tucker was most understanding."

Suddenly he understood. Something that had been nagging at him as being puzzling made sense now this last piece of the jigsaw had been dropped into place.

"T'Pol, if you said to him what you've just told me, he got the same impression as I – namely that a romantic involvement is only impossible because of these 'circumstances', not because of a lack of interest on your part. Now I understand why he opposes Maxwell's standing order."

"I do not understand, Captain. If you would please clarify?"

"If Trip sees just a little hope that your 'circumstances' will change, he'll wait for you come hell or high water. When Trip falls in love with someone, he's loyal to a fault. He's afraid that his hormones will one day win over his resolve to wait for you. If the no-frats remain, he has a reason to force himself into celibacy."

He could see the sheer confusion in her eyes. She obviously had no understanding of Trip's logic; weird, from a Vulcan, but then Trip's brand of logic was all his own.

"This is not logical. I have explained to him that an intimate relationship is impossible. I have researched human customs and there is no indication that friendship would preclude any of the involved persons from having sexual relationship with a suitable partner. In fact, I was informed that withholding the relief of sexual tension is unhealthy for humans. "

He sighed. Someone had sold Trip a rotten day. No wonder he had looked so dejected all morning.

"T'Pol, for him there is only one 'suitable partner' – and she's unavailable. Sure, physically he'd be able to hook up with Lieutenant Reed's system and if there's anyone on the ship who won't have a problem finding a willing partner, it's Trip. But it would feel to him like betraying you."

She frowned. Obviously this idea would take some coming to terms with.

"I understand, Captain. I shall try to address the issue with him."

"Good luck with that," he said. "He's as stubborn as a mule at saddle time."

She nodded and stood, ready to leave. Since she had obviously evaded mentioning what these 'circumstances' were he doubted it was something like being married, and it seemed she didn't want to discuss them. Her service record would have indicated so if she'd been in a legally recognized relationship.

He didn't want to intrude on her privacy, but nevertheless he wanted to extend a hand she might feel able to grasp if she needed it. "By the way, T'Pol; it's pretty obvious that Trip is not the only one who's aggrieved by these 'circumstances'. Is there anything Starfleet or this crew can do to 'resolve' those complications?"

She was already half way out of the door, but turned back to answer him. The bitterness in her voice took him by surprise.

"If you know a way to liberate Vulcan from its current government, captain…" And then she left.

Jon was left behind, staring at the door.

=/\=

Trip entered her quarters, carrying his toolbox and a small step ladder. Installing the sprinkler system the captain had insisted on for the permission to light candles in her quarters, would only take a few minutes. But he had the distinct impression that there was something T'Pol wanted to speak about – or she just had decided to start building their friendship in an organized Vulcan manner. If she had demonstrated one thing in the week she'd been on board, it was the capacity to surprise.

"Good Evening, Commander."

"Evenin', T'Pol," he replied, putting the ladder under the panel which would give him access to one of the water pipes running along the ceiling. "You mind holdin' the ladder?"

He removed the panel and checked the pipe underneath. At least for once the ship's schematics were accurate and he found the plug valve he had hoped for.

"I have spoken to the captain. He agreed that you shall have full authority to decide which tasks you accept and which not in Ensign Rao's art class. In fact he had not been aware that the topics would include nude art."

"That's Jon for you. I bet he hasn't seen the inside of a museum since he was a kid," Trip said with a chuckle, cutting a hole into the panel with his laser cutter. He could see T'Pol crinkle her nose because of the smoke; he knew that Vulcans had a particularly acute sense of smell, and he'd come prepared. With a smile he fished one of the nose clamps from one of his pockets and put it carefully on her face from above.

"Thank you for intervenin' on my behalf. As I said, if they are really so hot on paintin' me in my birthday suit, I don't have much of a problem with it. The principle was the important thing. I still want to have the option to back out, though. Last thing I need is some fresh faced ensign havin' ogled my stuff for hours and then fawnin' over me. We have two of those in engineerin' alone."

"I understand, Commander. "

"Is it possible to drop the ranks when we talk to each other privately?" he asked while fastening the sprinkler nozzle in the cut-out.

"It would be a logical progression in our friendship. I will not, however, be able to use your preferred appellation. So if you would accept me addressing you by your given name?"

"Why's that? Does Trip mean something bad in Vulcan?" he asked, refastening the panel with the now installed sprinkler nozzle.

"No," she offered. "But T'Rip is a female name on Vulcan. It would be somewhat awkward."

"Figures," he acknowledged, and gently took the clamp off her nose. "Well, Charles it is then. I can live with that."

"Would you mind taking a seat?" she offered and indicated her chair. "I have acquired refreshments. "

He sat down and with surprise he noticed that she had organized a beer for him. It was a bottle of " _Enterprise Diamant_ ", the local brew produced by two Germans from his department. He smiled at her in appreciation of the gesture and took a long swig.

"Charles, do you agree that a friendship allows the exchange of intimate information?" she asked cryptically and sipped on a glass of orange juice.

"Sure. You offered quite a lot of 'intimate information' yesterday."

"I would require an intimate detail about you."

"Go ahead." He didn't quite know where she was going with this.

"Charles, how long has it been since you engaged in sexual relations?"

It was a good thing he had already gulped down his last swig or it would have been ejected through his nose when he spluttered at her blunt question, but he soon regained his composure.

"Not sure why you need to know. It's not like I keep a diary, but it was something like thirteen, fourteen months ago."

"I am not an expert on human sexuality, but I would suspect such a long build-up of sexual tension is not considered healthy, or that it is at least discomforting."

"It's not exactly funny, no," he agreed. "But these things happen. And there are… remedies."

"Even I know that masturbation is a poor solution at best that only works temporarily."

Once more he felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He had quickly gotten used to T'Pol's way of bluntly naming things, but a lecture on having too little sex was not something he'd be likely to appreciate in his current circumstances.

"T'Pol, where are you going with this?"

"I believe you are going to avoid seeking relief for your sexual tension due to a misplaced hope that doing so would increase the chance of a romantic involvement with me should my current circumstances change."

He exhaled. "Why should I lie, T'Pol? Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do. Would you prefer I hop into the sack with someone else every other week?"

"I have explained to you that the chances of my circumstances to change are slim. After all it involves a change of government on my home world, and since Vulcans do not allow themselves to feel anger, you can't hope for mass protests to topple them as has happened in Earth's history. Administrator V'Las could be in office for another twenty years."

"We really don't have a chance, do we?" he asked regretfully.

"Not at this time," she agreed.

He looked up in surprise when she took his hands.

"If my situation was different, I would suspect that I would most likely develop an affection for you. At present, holding your hands is supremely discomforting, because I can feel your rampant emotions. Your frustration at suppressing your own needs is strong. I would wish you would pay more attention to your own well-being. This is the reason why we implemented this convoluted system of Lieutenant Reed's. If you were less tense, it would make holding your hand distinctly more agreeable."

It was impossible. Worse, it was  _unbearable_ : the woman for whom he was beginning to feel more deeply than anyone he'd ever met before, bluntly telling him to sate his physical needs elsewhere because it was no use waiting for her. "I– I need to think about this."

He fled her quarters, leaving his tools and the step ladder behind.


	12. First Contact

Trip sat behind the engineering console feeling morose, but trying to hide it to the best of his abilities. The situation between him and T'Pol felt a little awkward at the moment since he had fled her quarters last night. Anna had collected his abandoned tools, and her worried looks told him that she was quite aware of the tension between him and the Vulcan.

Intellectually speaking, T'Pol had of course been right; and in a way it was pathetic that he of all people, the 'good ol' boy' who had never spurned a night of sex with a lovely lady, was now looking for ways to evade just that. But something about her blunt request that he look after himself and 'have his tensions eased' felt just too weird. Something about her knowing that he would hop in the sack with another woman (and not even minding if he did) just served as a big honking cold shower.

Finding a willing partner would be the easiest thing in the world. Anna Hess, his second in command, had tried to get him into her bed using hints as subtle as a dropped grand piano: showing that massive cleavage of hers, for instance, or 'walking in' on him in the shower. But what would that lead to? He had to work with her every day, and the last thing he needed was having sex with someone who couldn't deal with the fact that it would be just that for him – sex and no relationship afterwards. He wasn't really in the business of breaking hearts. His own was already broken enough. He felt no need to do that to someone else's, too.

He shook off his thoughts to concentrate on the job at hand. They were on approach to Starbase 74 and several systems would be tested under realistic conditions – the docking clamps, the maneuvering thrusters and others. He couldn't really afford to be distracted by his messed-up love life. He directed his concentration back at his work.

"On screen," he heard the captain order when their hail was answered.

Trip gave the screen only a cursory glance. He knew Commodore M'Gambe all too well. The man wasn't here for his administrative skills. He had been a Captain of Starfleet Engineering until he'd become embroiled in disciplinary action against several officers – including himself – who'd sold engineering components to civilians and pocketed the money for themselves.

In a demented bit of 'logic', not wanting to overshadow the launch of their first warp five ship, Starfleet had actually promoted the man and removed him from the spotlight, parking him conveniently on this decrepit starbase where he could make use of his 'business sense' to fill Starfleet's coffers as well as his own.

"Captain, it's good to see you."

"Commodore."

"Our docking system is currently in a maintenance cycle, but you should be able to dock in about twenty minutes."

Trip looked up. That was a bit weird. Their ETA had been known for over twenty-four hours and he checked with the chronometer – yep, they were smack bang on time. Why would the starbase go into a maintenance cycle now? Even if the maintenance had been planned for a long time, they could have just rescheduled it by a few hours. Something was definitely fishy.

"We will await your signal," the captain said, but Trip was on the case as soon as the view screen cleared.

"Cap'n, something's not right. They've known we're comin' since yesterday and we're not a minute too late."

"The Commander's right, sir, and I think I know what's wrong."

All eyes turned to Travis, who had turned from the helm with an expression of eagerness.

"Can we play the recording of the Commodore, in slow motion?" he went on.

After a nod from the captain, Hoshi replayed the message.

"Stop just there, Hoshi," Travis said excitedly. "Magnify the wall behind the commodore and sharpen it. "

"Son-of-a-bitch! What the hell is that?" Trip said. The stern look from the ship's resident Vulcan told him that she didn't care much for his language.

Reflected in one of the inactive display panels behind the commodore was some big bodybuilder type, and he was bright green with weird piercings in his face. Starbase 74 was known to have business dealings with some races that so far were little known back home, but a bright green one? He would have remembered hearing about something like that.

"Travis?" he heard the captain ask.

"Orions, sir." The young helmsman's face now reflected dismay and disgust. "They're space pirates, who deal mainly in slavery. They raid ships, kidnap young crew members and sell them on slave markets throughout the sector."

"Something must be wrong with my hearin'," Trip said in disgust. "For a moment I thought you said 'slave markets'."

Travis was about to answer, when he was interrupted by Malcolm.

"Captain, I should inform you that there have been no less than six missing person reports on Starbase 74 over the last six months. All between seventeen and twenty-five, all female."

"Why weren't we informed about that earlier?" the captain asked, clearly irritated and with a good amount of naked shock on his face.

"I have the distinct impression that the Commodore was not planning to volunteer that information, sir," Malcolm replied dryly.

Trip remembered that most of the Brit's service record was classified, reminding him that they were dealing with some sort of former spook. He had come to know Malcolm well enough to know that this meant the lieutenant had tapped into the station's system without prior permission – an ability that was not among those officially listed on his CV.

"Okay, Lieutenant, what's your take on this?" the captain asked.

Reed stared narrowly at the screen for a moment longer, then sat back and folded his arms as he delivered his professional opinion. "The Orions have not boarded the station by force, in fact as you can see the individual is not even wearing a weapon. I'd say the Commodore has some questions to answer."

"Proposals," the captain demanded.

"I suggest insertion of a small security team – just three of my best people and myself. The station has no transporter technology, so their sensors should not be able to pick up a matter transport either. There must be a ship in the vicinity. I would advise that you shadow that ship while my people and I secure evidence on the station. I believe the twenty minutes of 'maintenance' is the time they need to let the Orions slip out of the back door."

"You want to beam in there, Lieutenant?" Trip asked. "That thing has never been tested on living beings other than a few rats and chickens. And some were reconfigured in the worst way in the process."

"Nobody ever said that a job in security is a particularly safe one, Commander."

"Lieutenant," Travis interrupted, "I'd suggest that you take breathing masks with you. Our ship was once boarded by Orions and everybody went crazy over their females, except one guy, who was still in an EV suit. They must release some sort of drug or something."

"Quick thinking, Ensign," the captain said appreciatively.

On his commanding officer's nod, Malcolm left the bridge to prepare for his mission.

"Permission to handle the transporter controls, Cap'n," the chief engineer requested. "If we're going to use that thing on people for the first time, I think an officer should take the responsibility for what happens."

Captain Archer nodded again, and he prepared to go. His glance met T'Pol's and they held each other's gaze for a moment. Her eyes were as enigmatic as ever, but even if it was just his imagination, it felt to him as if she was trying to convey a 'good luck' message.

On his way out he casually touched Hoshi's shoulder. Seeing her nervous smile, he knew she would have liked to wish Malcolm 'good luck' as well.

=/\=

Jonathan Archer forced himself to sit down. While he wanted to pace the bridge to hide his irritation and nervousness, he knew it would send the wrong signal to his bridge crew. It irked him that, while they had shipped out to introduce humanity to a wider interplanetary community, they'd ended up running straight into what looked suspiciously like a case of slave trafficking. And Starfleet was right in the thick of it.

"Captain, I believe I have located the Orion ship."

T'Pol's report shook him out of his dark reverie, and he asked her to call it up on screen. A dark greenish contraption hung in space, mostly hidden behind an asteroid. He asked T'Pol for details.

"Warp capable, but from the antimatter readings, I would submit it is capable of no more than warp three. The craft is, however, very well armed."

"Can we follow them at a safe distance?"

"We have their initial position. We should be able to track their warp trail while staying out of sensor range."

"Prepare to do that as soon as Lieutenant Reed and his team have been transferred. Ensign Mayweather, can you tell us anything about their battle tactics?"

"They rely on brute force, sir. Their ships don't seem to be very maneuverable, at least the few I have seen in person."

"I take it you can keep us moving so we won't find out how brute their force is, Ensign?"

"Nothing easier than that," the young man said with a wide grin. If the results Jon had seen from the ensign's flight test were anything to go by, his confidence was everything but misplaced.

"Cap'n, Malcolm and his folks are in – still in one piece by the sound of it," he heard Trip's relieved report from the transporter room.

"Thank you, Commander. Come back to the bridge."

"Um, Cap'n," came the reply over the intercom, and Jon knew that Trip had something else in mind, but was uncomfortable disputing an order in public. He decided to spare him the hassle with a question. "You have a suggestion, Commander?"

"Actually I do. I might be better placed down in Engineerin'. They've done all sorts of tests, but nobody ever tried what happens with all our systems if we get into a shoot'n match."

"Good thinking," Jon said honestly. In fact he realized that he was one of those who hadn't thought about that. It was just as well that one of them had.

=/\=

Jack Taylor, currently standing in for the absent head of his department, was looking grimly at the tactical display. It was not looking too good. It wasn't that they couldn't hold their own in the current fire fight with the Orions, but their shiny new ship was taking a serious beating. The latest intercom transmission from Engineering had had a rather sickening background soundtrack of exploding kit and sizzling components.

"Direct hit on D deck," Ensign Sato reported from behind the communications console, and the tactical officer sprang into action. He had only two seconds to find and follow the dissipating trail of energy that had just impacted the ship. By now he had the necessary routine, and a well directed phase cannon blast hit the origin of the attacker's shot.

"Their weapons are down," he reported, trying not to sound too smug.

"Have your team prepare a boarding party," the captain answered. "T'Pol, you're leading it."

With a nod Taylor waited for the Vulcan to join him and they walked towards the turbo lift.

=/\=

Securing a station without detailed schematics of the place was definitely not the best method. Realizing that his earlier worries were infuriatingly confirmed as accurate, Malcolm tried to make sense of the hastily-run scans and some diagrams he had stolen from the station's computer core. But it was not enough information to allow him to lead an efficient insurgency, especially since the backlight of his PADD's screen could easily give away their position in the darkened corridors of the station.

The fact that everything was only dimly lit by the red emergency lighting was testament to the fact that the rogue commander of the starbase was prepared to fight. Malcolm crouched down and indicated to his three men to hold their fire, as several figures marched towards them. In absence of any real light they could not make out if they were an engineering detachment or a group of soldiers. They hadn't come to shoot civilians, so there was no other way than taking the punt and wait until he could tell who it was approaching them.

When the unknown station personnel came too close for comfort, he released the security lock on his pulse rifle and could hear the faint sounds of his people doing the same; but the five men – who now turned out to be MACOs – stopped short of them, silently put their rifles on the ground and raised their hands in surrender. Momentarily confused, and still wary, Malcolm quickly recovered and silently indicated his men to check them out.

With Malcolm and Gutierrez keeping them under eagle-sharp surveillance, the other two members of his assault team collected the abandoned rifles and body-searched the five MACOs for hidden weapons. They did not offer any resistance.

"I guess they're clean, Lieutenant," reported one of the boarding party.

Malcolm lowered the rifle and stepped out of cover. "Report!" he barked.

=/\=

"These sons-a-bitches are going to pay for that!" Trip growled, and hissed in pain as Anna Hess bandaged his arm.

"Damn, you are one grumpy bugger, Trip," his second in command admonished him, and he could hear she was growing irritated with him. "Everybody else would have been proud about how well you kept engineering going during the fight, but instead you've been miserable and tetchy all the time. I've never seen Jane Taylor cry, but she just lost it when you had a go at her for no reason. What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you?"

He was taken aback. Anna was a social butterfly, the galaxy's most extroverted person, but she never swore, and the injustice of it all broke out of him in a frustrated rant.

"Yes, I'm fucking miserable, Anna!" he hissed, trying to rein in his voice – it wasn't necessary that all of Engineering should be made privy to the sordid details of his messed-up private life. "Because everything is going wrong here! Of all the people I could have fallen in love with, I fall for a Vulcan, who likes me too, but can't get involved with me, because for fuck knows what reason, her government insists she marries some Vulcan she's been promised to in childhood!

"That very same Vulcan, who can go to his hidden room and amuse himself looking at a naked painting of her whenever it takes his fancy. That alone is enough to drive me fuckin' nuts! And you know what? She says that if her government is ever changed, she would not rule out 'developing an affection' for me. I've known her only a few weeks, but I know what that means – she likes me too, but can't show it. Talk about Hero and Leander!

"And to top it off, like a goddamn situation like that  _needs_ any toppin' off, she says I should 'have my sexual tension' eased using Malcolm's ridiculous sex dating thing. It's all wrong and, frankly, I'm thinkin' about getting the fuck outta here and tryin' again on  _Columbia_."

When he finished his rant, breathing heavily, he grew even more irritated when Anna started laughing.

"Trip, we've just been through our first fire fight, so don't expect a solution within the next five minutes, but if I've learned one thing about our resident Vulcan, then it's that she's not quite as good at hiding her attraction to you as she thinks. Hold out a while longer and things will resolve. With or  _without_  her government falling over."

With that she placed a kiss on his cheek and sauntered out of his office, leaving him behind, stunned temporarily into silence.

=/\=

"So you're telling me that you abandoned your posts yesterday and prepared to take the station?" Malcolm asked in disbelief. "If you don't mind me being so blunt, that's not exactly common workplace practice in the MACO corps."

"It's also not common practice for a Starfleet base to be involved in slave trafficking," the MACO leader replied evenly, slowly pacing the width of the empty storage room they had retreated to. "So far we've only been collecting evidence, which was hard enough, until we came across that Vulcan girl he sold to the Orions. She was obtained 'to order'. M'Gambe had her hijacked from a nearby Vulcan outpost, because the Orions had  _asked_  for a Vulcan."

"And the Vulcans didn't react?" the Brit asked in disgusted disbelief.

"They aren't looking for us. M'Gambe had hired a group of Nausicaans for the job."

"Talk about a bad choice of friends," Malcolm snorted, still feeling nauseated by what he was hearing. "So do you think four more men would help getting the job done?"

"If you have a marksman," the major answered grimly. "Our man was killed by M'Gambe's henchmen."

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed at your service," he replied drily.

" _The_  Malcolm Reed? Multiple marksmanship champion?" one of the MACOs asked back with audible admiration in his voice.

"The same; I tend to hope there's not more messed-up types like me out there," the Brit replied.

"Trust me, sir, there are a lot of people, who would gladly be 'messed up' in exchange for your shooting skills," his new-found 'fan' explained, before addressing his commander. "We have ourselves a fine marksman, Major. We should strike, before that sucker cables a version of our story to General O'Reilly that we may find hard to refute."

"Agreed," the MACO leader agreed curtly and made a hand gesture to ask for their weapons back.

Satisfied with the acquisition of the unexpected reinforcements, the Brit nodded his approval to re-arm the MACOs.

=/\=

"We're being hailed," Hoshi reported and Jon indicated her to open the channel.

"Commander T'Pol to Enterprise – we have secured the ship."

"Have you detained the Orions?"

"It was not possible," the Vulcan reported back. "There were three males and two females aboard. When their situation became futile, the females shot the males before taking their own lives by swallowing some form of poison capsule."

"They were obviously not very fond of being questioned," Jon noted drily. "Have you found any captives?"

"Yes, we have liberated two individuals," the Vulcan answered and Jon thought he could hear anger in her voice. "They are wearing some form of implant, which began causing extreme pain when their captors died. I believe it to be a subdual device. We had to stun one of the captives to relieve the pain."

"Why didn't you use the hypospray from the med kit?"

"Because it is only effective for humans," came the reply over the intercom. "The second individual is a Vulcan."


	13. Surprise

T'Pol worked with the chief engineer and Doctor Phlox, trying to find a way to neutralize the implants in the victims' necks. It was hard for her not to show worry about the Vulcan who lay on the biobed before them: the young female was barely out of childhood, and the clothing (or lack thereof) of both liberated individuals was a clear sign that they had been intended to be sold off as sexual slaves. She found it hard not to lose control over the rage that simmered in her mind.

The female on the biobed was not nearly old enough to understand what her life would have become. At least she was spared that.

"I have identified the compound," the doctor explained in a subdued tone. "But before we can administer an antidote, we need to find a way to stop these devices from releasing more of the substance."

"It's some sort of failsafe mechanism," the engineer added and T'Pol could see that he was barely holding on to his countenance. The muscles in his jaw were rigid, and her keen hearing could pick up the most disagreeable sound of his teeth grinding against each other as he fought to preserve his obviously brittle control over his anger and disgust.

"The Orion males had similar implants at their wrists," she explained. "Their death must have activated the devices, probably by the cessation of the pulse. It would be logical to assume that they did not want their captives to survive in the event that they were taken prisoner."

"Some logic, my ass," she heard him swear under his breath. She knew the ship's chief engineer had been hit hard by the complications in their private interactions, and so she found it even more admirable how relatively well he kept his calm and did not let his private problems influence their professional interactions. For now she needed Charles Tucker III, the brilliant engineer. There would be a more opportune moment than now to think about how to deal with Charles, the human who was so clearly troubled by the enforced distance between them.

"Perhaps Ensign Sato could help," she offered. "The two devices must have had a communication link."

"And Hoshi could try to generate a fake signal! Great idea, T'Pol."

She did not protest his omitting her rank, and nor did she protest the light squeeze he gave to her shoulder in gratitude. She had learned that such small gestures would help him deal with the emotional turmoil and – although she was not prepared to admit it – the light touch reassured her as well.

=/\=

Malcolm nodded his acknowledgement when the Major pointed out the five people in the ops room who weren't supposed to be there. They were M'Gambe's personal henchmen, all more than stoutly built and armed with pulse rifles.

Granted, the position their small group was in was not exactly a prime attacking spot. They were lying in an access tunnel above the ceiling, peering through a ventilation grille. When Major Ramos was given the order to punch it out so that the rifle muzzle could drop through, he would have only moments to stun six people before any of them could raise a weapon or dive for cover.

Ramos's boot dislodged the hatch cover with one kick, and it fell to the floor below with a clang. Rolling instantly into position, Malcolm released a sustained rate of pulse fire. He knew he would inevitably also hit some of the innocent ops personnel, but he couldn't avoid that as the armed goons were standing too far apart to be taken out with one burst. And besides, the weapon was set on stun – it wouldn't be pleasant, but it shouldn't do anyone any lasting harm.

Having done his job, he rolled away to the side, so that the MACOs could abseil down the hatch and secure the area. Loud shouting filled the station's bridge as the soldiers secured the place. When he finally followed them down, he saw M'Gambe unconscious in his command chair and he felt the strongest urge to kick the man's teeth in. With satisfaction, he noticed that he had only hit a single bystander.

"Damn good shooting, Lieutenant," the MACO major said, and the Brit could hear nothing but sincerity in the man's words. Coming from a military man that was a badge of honour, as the battle-hardened MACOs were known to regard Starfleet personnel somewhat dismissively as 'boy-scouts'. Maybe at least these five of them would start to rethink that preconception.

"I think we should let the Commodore get to test the comfort level of his brig," Malcolm replied drily, not answering anything to the unexpected praise.

"Since this is a Starfleet installation, I believe you're the ranking officer now," Ramos shot back with a wide grin. "Was that an order, sir?"

"It was. Lock the scumbags up and have two of your people make sure they stay there."

=/\=

"Brilliant, Hoshi!" Trip enthused, when his scanner showed that the micro-valve of the device had retracted from the Vulcan's artery and the flow of neuro-toxin had stopped.

Phlox quickly administered the antidote. Then he ushered him and Hoshi out of the way, behind the privacy screen, and started to surgically remove the device from the Vulcan's neck.

T'Pol, meanwhile, had appointed herself a nurse and administered the hypospray containing Phlox's elixir to the young human on the second biobed. She did not return his triumphant smile, but Trip saw her features soften somewhat in acknowledgement of his display of relief and jubilation at his rescue, and coming from her that was almost as much as if she had smiled back.

He was reminded of Hoshi's status as the resident expert on body language when the young ensign sent him a knowing grin and a wink before handing him the modified universal translator that was transmitting the fake signals on its two channels. Still smiling at him mischievously, she turned on her heel and left.

"A little souvenir," Phlox said triumphantly and placed the removed device in Trip's hand before disappearing behind the second privacy screen to rid the human girl of her device as well. The traces of green blood on the spikes it bore on the bottom was a stark reminder that until moments before it had been stuck in the young female's neck. He fought down the bout of nausea that was threatening to make him puke.

Knowing that there were chairs next to the biobeds, and feeling himself in urgent need of the nearest, he staggered through the nearest privacy curtain and sank down into the chair next to the Vulcan girl, who to his surprise started to stir in her bed. His first reflex was to call Phlox, but he knew the Denobulan was still working on the human girl. He did not know any Denobulan, but he got the impression that Phlox's latest exclamation was not necessarily diplomatic verbiage. Obviously he was having a much harder job dislodging the second device.

He was starting to feel really light-headed, so he put his head down between his knees for a few seconds. When he'd shaken off the worst of his thoughts and steadied up enough to sit up again, he noticed that the Vulcan on the biobed was staring at him wide-eyed. He'd had enough practice guessing T'Pol's emotions from looking her in the eyes to know that the young female was terrified as well as angry.

" _You have bought me,_ " she said, her tone an accusation.

" _No, not bought,_ " he stammered, trying to recollect his modest knowledge of Vulcan vocabulary. He hadn't used it for a long time, except that one sentence he'd surprised T'Pol and Hoshi with while in the brig.  _"We removed this."_ He lifted the device and showed it to her.

The young Vulcan stared in loathing.  _"Pain-maker."_

" _We know,"_ Trip said, smiling when she touched her neck to confirm it was gone from there. " _Don't touch. Fresh surgery."_

" _Your people caught me,"_ she said, the accusatory tone returning to her voice.

" _Not all of his people are the same,"_ T'Pol said, coming through the curtain to his rescue; Trip tried not to sigh in relief too loudly. " _The one who abducted you was a criminal. These humans came to rescue you. Charles is the engineer. He found out how to disable the 'pain-maker'."_

Of course she gave him entirely too much credit, considering that it was she who had come up with the idea of involving Hoshi, who in turn came up with a method of jury-rigging a universal translator to send out a fake signal. But he could easily see her reasoning. It was a human who had put the device in place, so T'Pol was trying to convince the scared youngster that not all humans were the same.

 _Talk about leaving a bad first impression,_  he thought to himself ruefully. To his surprise a slender young hand very slowly reached out towards him as the young girl started to cry.

"Take the hand," T'Pol instructed in English and he could hear she was almost succumbing to tears as well. "She is still too young to have full control over her emotions."

Carefully he took the fragile-looking small hand and gently rubbed the back of it with his thumb while the young patient was rocked by gut-wrenching sobs as all the terror she'd been through broke free. Not knowing what better to do, he gathered the sobbing Vulcan in his arms and rubbed her back as she cried out the terror of the last few days.

To his surprise he saw a single tear run down T'Pol's face, but the ship's first officer retreated behind the privacy screen so quickly he might almost have thought he'd imagined it.

=/\=

"The station is secured, sir," Malcolm Reed reported, his face filling the view screen.

Jon was still not completely sold on the idea of having a bridge officer whose past was summarily classified, but considering how quickly his tactical officer had seized a whole starbase, it was obvious that he hadn't spent his previous years in a catholic girl's choir.

"M'Gambe?"

"Alive and secured, sir. I had the strangest urge to redecorate his face, but I reckoned I'd give the first shot to you. Though I'm afraid you're in a race with Admiral Forest. I'm not going to repeat his reaction when we transmitted the evidence."

"The admiral is on the way to the station?"

"He even hitched a ride on Ambassador Soval's personal courier vessel. They are both headed this way. We found evidence that a Vulcan was abducted." There was the shadow of a question in his voice.

"We have freed an abducted Vulcan girl."

Jon had to pause when he was nearly overcome by the memory of what he'd witnessed in sickbay. A Vulcan shedding heart-wrenching tears was not something he'd ever thought he'd see. Even more shocking was seeing said Vulcan desperately clinging to the ship's chief engineer, who was helplessly lost for words.

"I take it it was not a pretty sight," the Brit said knowingly and Jon shot him a surprised look.

"If Ensign Mayweather hadn't beaten me to the punch, I would have identified those Orions for you. I know what their victims look like. But that's a talk we should have in person." Reed caught himself visibly back into 'officer mode', clearly realizing he'd been speaking to his captain almost as an equal. "Have you found out how to deactivate the neck implants, sir?"

"Hoshi did, with the help of Trip and T'Pol," Jon said, almost forgetting about his dark mood when he saw Reed struggling to suppress a proud grin at his supposedly 'secret' love interest having saved the day. "But you're right, Lieutenant; I think it is time the two of us have a little chat."

"I'll be at your disposal when you come back, sir. In fact, I would prefer that talk to include Admiral Forest. I'm growing distinctly uncomfortable with having to leave my commanding officer in the dark."

"That'll have to wait a few days," Jon replied, surprised now by the Brit's candidness as well as his air of authority. "We've won our first fire fight, mostly thanks to your second in command, but it came at the expense of a lot of engineering components and temporary loss of our warp engines. Our chief engineer has his work cut out for him."

"Thankfully you have the right man for the job." The Lieutenant surprised him yet again, considering that not too long ago the man he had just praised had been a fellow inmate of the Brig after a juvenile testosterone-filled brawl.

"Apparently he can fix more than just the engines," Jon said vaguely. "We'll keep in contact, Lieutenant. If that station is more than just a smuggler's joint, try to organize something so that Trip can fix the ship."

"Aye, sir."

=/\=

Anna stopped just short of going round the T-Junction a few meters from Commander T'Pol's quarters. The two voices were unmistakable. It was perhaps not the most decent thing to eavesdrop on them, but if she was about to go through with her plan, it could serve to confirm she had read the situation right.

"You have done well, Charles, and I thank you for the help you have rendered. I would not have been able to console T'Lara the way you did."

So, mused Anna, the rumors were true that the freed Vulcan had had a meltdown and cried on his shoulder. Who was surprised? Trip was sometimes too soft-hearted for his own good. He could never pass up helping someone in distress, except himself of course. And  _Charles_ , huh? Everybody with even rudimentary knowledge about Vulcans easily knew the gravity of the fact that she addressed him on a first-name basis.

"Hope she'll be okay." Trip's voice was hollow with weariness. Other than that, it didn't give much away.

"She will, eventually. Now go and rest, we need you in peak condition tomorrow."

"'Kay. 'Night, T'Pol."

Thankfully his quarters were in the other direction, so he would not see her; and after waiting half a minute to make sure he'd walked away, Anna nonchalantly rounded the corner. To her surprise, the Vulcan was still standing in the door, looking in the direction in which Trip had left. He had already disappeared into a turbo lift, but she was still watching the empty corridor as if she was hoping he'd come back.

"Fancy meeting you here, Commander," she said, trying not to startle the first officer too much. "May I have a word with you – preferably in a private setting?"

She could see the Vulcan's brows furrow for a moment. Since she was Trip's second in command, Commander T'Pol was probably assuming that there were problems in Engineering that warranted the attention of the First Officer.

A gesture at the door control of T'Pol's cabin indicated that she should enter, she did so, trying to keep her expression neutral for the sake of her hostess, who followed her in.

As the door hissed shut she was asked, without preamble, "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I confronted Commander Tucker yesterday about his, let's say, 'volatile' emotions. He's been unbearable for the last few days."

"And that caused disruption in Engineering," the Vulcan half-asked, half-stated.

"Not necessarily; we cut him a lot of slack," Anna replied frankly. "Nobody on this ship has been in as much stress. But he and I have been on the ship since we fastened the first screw. This is not normal stress he's in. He launched into quite a rant."

"I sense this will be a longer conversation than I anticipated," her host mentioned drily. "Would you care for refreshment, Lieutenant?"

"Not a bad idea, thanks."

"Charles has spoken of you occasionally. He trusts you a great deal, and considers you a close friend. I take it that your visit is of a more private nature, then."

Anna was startled momentarily. Not only had the first officer openly admitted to her close relationship to the ship's engineer by addressing him by his name, but she had also seen right through what this was all about. A discussion of this nature with a senior officer who'd never shown the slightest inclination to socialize would ordinarily have come under the heading of 'risky'. However, considering that she was currently preparing tea, instead of spacing her, there was a chance that the Vulcan might actually be quite willing to discuss her relationship, or non-relationship with Trip. Still, it paid not to take chances, so Anna opted for a rare moment of diplomacy, saying, "It sure is, of course only if you're not offended. I do know how private Vulcans are."

"I would have 'removed you from the premises' in no uncertain terms, if I was offended," the Commander answered, handing her hot tea in a porcelain cup that looked more valuable than all her own worldly belongings put together.

"I know you're not one to mince words," Anna continued, putting the expensive piece of tableware on the desk. "I know Trip loves you, and from what I've seen it's not a one-sided affair."

One elegant eyebrow rose, but there was no other response than that look of mild curiosity. "What leads you to this conclusion?"

There was no malice or offense in the Vulcan's words. It sounded quite controlled in fact. She had started the talk wary of a possibly offended reaction by the introverted first officer, but it started to feel as if she was actually appreciating the fact that she had  _someone_ , to whom she could speak openly about her troubled relationship with Trip and the reasons that caused those troubles.

"Commander, just minutes ago you called him 'Charles'. As I said, Trip and I have been around since the keel was laid for this ship. As the two ranking officers, we were the ones who had contact with the Vulcan advisors. I know what importance it has that you call him by his name, especially to a third party like me."

"It would be illogical to deny what you already know. Indeed I  _am_  attracted to Charles, but if he disclosed his emotional state to you in an indiscreet moment, you must also be aware of why I have to avoid developing too close a relationship to him."

"Only vaguely," the engineer admitted. "He said something about your government and some guy you were promised to. I'm not going to repeat his exact words."

"No doubt they were laced with vulgar terms," her host confirmed, and Anna thought she had definitely heard a sigh. "Indeed, the government insists on my entering an arranged marriage that by all intents and purposes should have been 'called off' by now."

"If it isn't too private, may I ask  _why_  it should be called off?"

"Due to the fact that I have spent most of my adult life off the planet, my childhood betrothed has repeatedly mated with another female. By Vulcan law that would entitle me to annulment of the betrothal."

"That son of a bitch!" Anna seethed. It was not her habit of swearing, but that just took the cake. An honest soul like Trip was suffering because of an adulterer whom T'Pol didn't apparently even want to marry!

"You cannot blame Koss, my betrothed," the Vulcan explained. "Normally we should have been married over a decade ago. He was… forced… by biological implications… to seek another mate. I know for a fact that he has developed a strong affection for her, or as humans say – they love each other."

"Then what's your government's attitude all about?"

"It is a political decision. Koss is of the ruling clan, while I am of the most influential clan that opposes the current government. If they succeeded in forcing this marriage they would silence their strongest opposition, as our clan would be obliged by tradition to ally with theirs."

This sounded weirder and weirder by the second and there was one question that sprang immediately to Anna's mind. She set down the cup and fixed the Vulcan with a steely glare.

"Commander T'Pol, who  _are_  you? In Vulcan political terms?"

"Due to a natural disaster, a sandfire that wiped out sixty percent of our clan members, I am the only female member of the House of T'Klass who is of child bearing age, and I will remain the only one for at least another two decades. We are the second most important house in our clan. The leading house, the house of Surak, is close to extinction. They have no females of child bearing age and only two female children left."

Anna shivered. Before she could ask what almost forced itself into her mind, the Vulcan delivered the blow.

"T'Lara, the one we rescued, is one of those two children."


	14. Anna's Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of warning. The hard core TnT shippers might not universally like this and the next chapter, but nothing in life is always easy...

Jon sat in his quarters, tiredly rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. The news that T’Pol had just dumped on him was making his head hurt.  “Please have a seat, T’Pol,” he groaned. “You’re driving me mad standing there like a statue.”

“That was not my intention, Captain. I apologize.”

When he looked up she was sitting in an armchair, her back ramrod straight with her hands neatly folded in her lap.

“Okay, so you say the young girl we rescued is a direct descendant of Surak – one of only two females who could continue the bloodline on the maternal side.”

“That is correct, Captain.”

“And you want to keep her on the ship?”

“Yes. Her parents were reported missing weeks before _Enterprise_ ’s mission began. From what little she was able to say in her condition, I conclude that the remaining members of her family did not survive the raid that resulted in her abduction.”

Jon pondered the situation. From his earlier conversations with T’Pol and Soval he knew that the High Command would just love to ‘take custody’ of one of the few remainders of Surak’s bloodline, but on the other hand they could just as well paint a giant bulls-eye on the hull if the High Command got ever wind of their guest. Perhaps T’Pol could at least deliver some more details.  “If I may ask, T’Pol; I know she must have been through a lot, but is such an extreme reaction normal?” he asked in reference to witnessing the hysterically crying Vulcan in Sickbay.

“T’Lara is less than twenty years of age. Vulcans do not gain full discipline and control of their emotions until the age of forty. To put her stage of development into perspective for you – were she human, she would be twelve to thirteen years old at the most.”

“She’s still a _child_ ,” Jon gasped in horror – knowing what had been the plans for her if she had been sold by the Orions.

“Indeed, Captain. She is a child who has lost her whole family and is not necessarily safe from danger. Please do not turn her over to the authorities.”

The sense of urgency in the Vulcan’s voice made him sit up. But there were some practical obstacles to consider. “We might have to, T’Pol. We can’t just keep a Vulcan child in custody indefinitely. The High Command would consider us as taking her hostage – it could endanger the whole relationship with Starfleet. There must be at least some far-flung relative left who can care for her.”

“You are _speaking_ to one of her far-flung relatives, Captain. Although T’Lara is of the house of Surak and I belong to the house of T’Klaas, we are members of the same clan. I have every right to care for her. That is why I want to keep her here. Not even the High Command could legally take her away as long as I live.”

Jon snorted sarcastically. “From what Soval told me, they would consider that a minor obstacle.”

“Indeed. But they would have to get past Lieutenant Reed first, and that will most likely turn out to be a surprisingly challenging endeavor,” the Vulcan retorted drily and Jon couldn’t help but smile. He had heard several people singing the praises of his tactical officer by now, but coming from T’Pol it was probably the highest accolade.

“We’ll have a chance to discuss that with Ambassador Soval. He’s coming to starbase 74. How is our guest anyway? I must admit I was a bit surprised see her clinging to Trip…”

“Commander Tucker is much more than just a capable engineer.”

This short sentence told more about the Vulcan’s affinity for the ship’s chief engineer than any straightforward admission of her obvious attraction to him, and Jon decided to leave it at that.  “Will she need counseling?” he asked, returning to the business at hand.

“I do not know,” she admitted with surprising honesty. “Only time will tell, but with myself, Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato we have three Vulcan speakers aboard. I have found that Ensign Sato is most capable at helping people in distress.”

“Wait,” Jon interrupted. “Did you say Trip speaks Vulcan?”

“I am surprised you do not know. I learned of it recently. Apparently he learned the language during his time on the Warp Three program. He was displeased by not being able to understand what the Vulcan advisors spoke of among themselves. He did not trust them.”

“Now there’s a surprise.”

She nodded.  “His proficiency is nowhere near that of Ensign Sato, but it served to avert a crisis when T’Lara woke up from sedation.“

“You haven’t seen this,” Jon said, downing a glass of whiskey he had poured himself. “But this day is starting to become too much.”

The slightest suggestion of a smile touched her face.  “The relaxed regulations on consumption of alcoholic beverages apply to you as well, captain.”

=/\=

Anna sat in Trip’s office wading through the myriad of engineering reports that had come in during the three hours she had spent talking to the ship’s first officer. Strictly speaking, this was Kelby’s shift, but the privacy of Trip’s office allowed her to think about the conversation with the Vulcan in relative privacy.

As she had started to believe throughout the first part of their conversation, the commander was indeed ‘gratified’ that she could talk to someone who had an insight into how Trip ticked. Thankfully, as a Vulcan, she was used to naming things as they were, which made the most delicate topic of the talk less troublesome. It would be a talk she wouldn’t forget…

=/\=

“To come to the point of my visiting you,” Anna had said, not quite sure what to expect in return. “One of the less ambiguous parts of Trip’s outburst dealt with the fact that you allegedly told him to look for a casual sexual partner through Lieutenant Reed’s match-up system.”

To her surprise, the Vulcan showed no sign of evasiveness or offence, in fact she came straight to the point.  “Indeed I did, and I suppose you wish to volunteer as a suitable partner?”

Anna was momentarily stunned by straightforward answer, but then why was she surprised? She was dealing with a Vulcan after all. So she decided to answer in kind.  “I’m not going to beat around the bush – yes – that’s why I’m here. Now that you’ve explained the political background, it becomes obvious why you can’t get intimate with him, and I suppose it wasn’t an easy decision to make. I reckoned it would be less troublesome for you if it was a partner who would not come in between you and would have no designs on Trip other than the occasional encounter to take care of our ‘needs.’”

“You are correct on both aspects. It was indeed not a comfortable decision. And a partner with no ulterior motives would indeed be preferable.”

“May I ask why you made that decision? You surely know that Trip would wait for you until eternity. Instead you think it’s better to live with the knowledge that he has sex with someone else, even though it is just casual?”

“Humans may be able to abstain from sexual activity for a long time, but every scientific publication I have read, both from human and Vulcan sources, warns against it, especially for males. Hormonal and emotional imbalances are cited, as well as detrimental health effects such as an elevated risk of prostate cancer.”

Anna nodded knowingly. She was starting to gain a real appreciation for the Vulcan. It was surely not easy to make this concession, but in the end she was putting Trip’s welfare before her own.

“And there is a mostly practical reason for this as well,” the Vulcan continued drily, piquing Anna’s curiosity. “The longer I serve on this ship, the more I grow convinced that this crew will play a role in changing my unfavorable circumstances. Should the day come that Charles and I can legally engage in intimate activities, it will be my first such encounter, and I would not wish it to be an act of desperation because Charles has tormented himself by a long voluntary celibacy. Of course at that time any previous partner would have to look elsewhere from thereon in.”

Anna couldn’t help but laugh at the candid admission of the commander’s ‘practical considerations’, but she was also surprised that the Vulcan was still a virgin.

=/\=

 _You have an answer to everything, T’Pol._ This light-hearted reply of Captain Archer to her ‘permission’ to consume a glass of high percentage alcohol kept ringing in her head as she made her way to Sickbay. She wanted to make sure T’Lara was fine before it was time to retire for some late evening meditation.

In fact the Captain’s statement was wrong. For instance, she had no answer to the question of how to explain to Charles what she and Lieutenant Hess had discussed earlier. In fact she wasn’t sure if telling him about their conversation would not result in offending him.

When she walked around the privacy screen, wondering why Phlox was nowhere to be seen, she stopped when she saw that T’Lara was not alone. Charles was sitting next to the biobed, his back turned to her, and he was reading a traditional Vulcan child’s story in a somewhat accented and sometimes halting fashion from a PADD. Considering that the young girl was sleeping soundly and looked most content, the unusual recitation of the ancient tale had obviously served its purpose.

She gently put her hand on his shoulder, both to make her presence known and to let him know that his attempt at pacifying the young female had been successful.

“Hoshi transliterated that for me,” he whispered, and she could tell that he was fairly self-conscious about being found here.

T’Pol decided to give him a moment to overcome his misplaced embarrassment by discussing business matters. To do that without disturbing the child, she led him away from the biobed.

“Why is doctor Phlox not present?” she asked in a lowered voice.

“He’s taken Nadja – that’s the human girl – to bunk in Kusnezova’s quarters. Turned out they’re from the same town and Kusnezova knows her.”

“That is gratifying to hear,” T’Pol said. “Now that T’Lara is sleeping, will you be able to spare some time to accompany me?”

“Sure.”

After leaving a voice recording for Phlox, she led him out of sickbay.

=/\=

Trip sat down at the table in the deserted mess hall, not feeling too comfortable with the fact that T’Pol had appointed herself a waitress and gone to collect food and drinks for them. It should be his job to do that.

To his surprise, T’Pol didn’t serve him any salad or any of the weeds that Vulcans considered acceptable food. She brought him a slice of pecan pie.

“How do you know?”

“Contrary to popular belief I _do_ occasionally read the crew’s intranet creations, and your writing called ‘one hundred and one ways to enjoy pecan pie’ left no doubt about your favorite food.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her playful reply. He had been afforded glimpses into T’Pol’s very unique sense of humor before, but she still managed to surprise him.

“You sure know what I need after a day like that.”

The sudden silence was almost deafening, and Trip knew all too well that T’Pol being lost for an immediate answer meant that some heavy stuff was coming his way.  His heart sank.

“I have had a long conversation with Lieutenant Hess today,” she said after a pause, and Trip looked up a little apprehensively. Surely his little outburst had not been reason enough for his XO to consult the first officer?

“The lieutenant spoke about the matters you had discussed with her. She came to me to volunteer.”

“Volunteer for what?” he asked, a suspicion forming in his mind. She wouldn’t have done _that,_ would she…?

“To engage in casual sexual relations with you without any obligations to each other,” came the blunt surprise.

Although he had half expected it, some bits of pecan pie shot down the wrong tube and he started coughing painfully.  “She _what?_ ” he pressed out among coughs, when he had his breathing a bit better under control.

“Charles,” she said and checked that the mess hall was still empty. “I can show you several publications that warn against abstention from sexual activity and I am going to repeat what I explained to Lieutenant Hess. I have come to the conclusion that with the help of this crew my situation will change. When the day comes on which we can finally engage in intimate activities, it will be the first time for me, and I do not wish my partner to be desperate.”

_Did she just say what I think she did?_

“You make it sound as if you actually _plan_ to do that, once you get rid of the betrothal,” he ventured carefully and with no little amount of hope.

“I was not entirely truthful when I said I do not rule out that I may develop an affection to you,” she explained calmly, and all the hope came suddenly crashing down again. “That affection does not need to develop. It is already present.”

Hope alternating with despair and hope again: it was like being on a rollercoaster, and it was making him dizzy.

Damn this woman! _Only T’Pol can deliver good news with a kick in the ‘nads,_ he thought to himself while he tried to decide whether to faint or to laugh. He took her hand – though this time he was the one who checked nobody was around.

“I’m happy, T’Pol, and regarding your ‘permission’, I really appreciate your consideration. If it was for me I would perhaps even make use of it. Hell, it’s been ages, and I get almost antsy when I see a naked wall, but it still wouldn’t work. First of all, Anna has tried to seduce me before. In all honesty I don’t think she’s up to the ‘no obligations’ bit.  And second, you might find it all logical now, while it’s just a concept.  But what happens if I actually do get intimate with someone? What if you suddenly realize you can’t cope with that as easily as you thought? It’s not something that can be undone.”

“You had sexual partners before, did you not?” she replied. “While I do not wish to learn details, they do not concern me. Neither would Lieutenant Hess. Of course that would change once my betrothal has been annulled.”

He couldn’t help but grin. She really _was_ convinced that it was no longer a question of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

“Still leaves the problem of Anna’s advances,” he said, shaking his head. “We have to work with each other every day. If she suddenly started to get emotionally involved, it would not only destroy a great friendship, it would be disastrous for our work.”

“Do you know that Lieutenant Hess is bisexual?” T’Pol asked back, bluntly.

“Sure, everyone in engineering knows that she takes both men and women to bed.”

“That is not entirely true. She takes _one_ woman to her bed, namely her committed partner. However, occasionally she seeks intimate contact with men – with the permission of her partner of course.”

“Wait-a-minute, that would mean she and I are basically in the same situation,” he realized. Though the ‘bi’ part of it didn’t apply, of course.

“Indeed,” T’Pol confirmed calmly. “Both of you need a partner who has no expectations of a relationship, and since both of you already have a committed or desired relationship the risk is low that you would ‘fall for each other’, as the Lieutenant put it.”

“I’ll have to think about it, T’Pol,” he admitted and tapped his temple. “Up here I understand it. But it still feels weird. I have to sleep on it.”

“Of course,” she said as they went to place the dirty tableware in the disposal area.

Their walk together was mostly silent until they reached her quarters. At her invitation he followed her in, and once the door had closed she surprised him by slipping her arms around his waist. He returned the gesture and inhaled the scent of her hair. It still had a faint whiff of her shampoo. He closed his eyes to savor the moment.

“Lieutenant Hess told me that her usual photographer was rotated off the ship when we launched. Did you not tell me you were a photographer as well?”

“Amateur photographer, mostly landscapes and buildings,” he started to correct her, but stopped. “You knew about her photographs?”

“I told you that I occasionally read what crew members publish on the ship’s intranet. I am quite aware of her monthly series of nude and semi-nude photographs. I find most of them quite… tasteful. Although I wonder how she managed to pose in Captain Archer’s chair without eliciting undue attention or upheaval.”

“That was when I was still ranking officer, way before most of the crew came aboard. So you also want me to help her snap nudes of herself?” he asked in disbelief.

“She obviously finds this ‘hobby’ enjoyable and if you gained more experience in photographing people instead of landscapes…”

He looked at her blankly. _What the hell’s that supposed to mean?_ The answer came promptly when she brought her lips close to his ear and started to whisper.

“You might, one day, encounter an even more… interesting subject to photograph. Though not, of course, for publication on the intranet.

“Good night, Charles.”

“’N-night T’Pol,” he stammered in a haze and left her quarters, dumbfounded.

=/\=

The morning shift had gone past in a blur. The rest of the Alpha shift had already left an hour ago, so Trip had the whole place pretty well to himself most of the time and could brood in silence. With all the repairs that had still needed to be done, by the time he’d stopped working he’d looked as if he’d followed Santa down the chimney.  Now, the hot shower felt like a great relief and he was finally starting to look like a human being again.

The night had been way too short. Not that the hours had been too few, but he would have enjoyed seeing the end of the dream that had started with T’Pol posing for his camera on the beach – stark naked and unbelievably seductive.

The sheer intensity of the dreams which had made him wake up with a ‘morning wood’ that took almost 20 minutes to go away, and had made the trip to the john a gymnastic experience, had provided the final conviction that it was better to take up on T’Pol’s proposal instead of running about like a hormonally challenged teenager all the time. It was still a weird thought though.

Granted, whacking off while fantasizing about T’Pol would be an alternative, but not only did that feel somewhat dirty and weird, after a year of a monk’s life it would only provide _very_ temporary relief. If the shit-eating grin he’d glimpsed on the face of his second in command was any indication, his decision might just as well have been painted on his face.

The whirring of the entrance’s locking mechanism rattled him out of his thoughts. Someone had locked him in. Or – realization dawned on him – someone had locked the rest of the crew out.

“Hello, Commander,” Anna purred, entering the main chamber from the locker room. She was no less grimy than he had been ten minutes ago and she was stark naked. Her large breasts, probably the biggest ones on the entire ship, bounced with her mischievous giggles.

“Do you have some time to help me? An hour, perhaps?”


	15. With a Little Help From a friend

“How can you be so sure that I decided to follow T’Pol’s proposal?” he asked, unashamedly checking out the naked form of his second in command.

“I’ve been in your office before with my zipper half-way down. Today you actually _looked_. And besides, _that_ never happened.”

To emphasize her point she gave his rock-hard erection a gentle squeeze. The feeling of a hand that wasn’t his own on his best piece threatened a _very_ premature release. It still felt so wrong in one way, but so right in another.  And it had been such a long time…

“If you keep doing that, the fun will be very short lived,” he admitted somewhat self-consciously, knowing that after such a lengthy abstinence he would not hold out for any length of time.

“Let me handle that,” she replied, running her hand down his chest as she knelt before him.

Without much ado, the top half of the not-quite-so ‘little engineer’ disappeared between her lips. Trip closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of her soft lips gliding back and forth along the length of his shaft. There was a certain animalistic and erotic fascination about having a grimy, more than well-muscled and big breasted Amazon kneeling before you with your rock hard tool in her mouth.

And god dammit, her technique was exquisite!

But the downside was that with her expert tongue-work he held out even shorter than expected and with barely any time to warn her, he exploded into her throat with a loud groan of long-denied relief. As the pleasure subsided, bringing with it a wash of equal guilt and delight, he felt a hefty blush creep up on his cheeks at this lack of self-control.  Heck, that was a teenager’s trick!

“Sorry,” he muttered when Anna stood up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. To his surprise, she had simply gulped down the payload.

“What are you apologizing for? Considering how long it’s been for you, I’m impressed you didn’t shoot your load when you first saw me naked.”

“Nothing wrong with your self-esteem,” he quipped, his embarrassment subsiding thanks to her quip.

“Now help me get cleaned up while you recover for the next rounds,” she requested matter-of-factly.

“ _Rounds_?” he asked as he started to scrub her back, taking the opportunity to cup her buttock with his free hand. “You make it sound as if you’ve got quite the program planned.”

“Trip, we both know what this is. We both have an itch – or twelve – that need to be scratched. And both of us don’t have that itch very often. I, because Pat usually takes good care of me. She just hates using a strap-on on me. And I have no illusion of you enjoying this without a weird feeling. But when we’re at it, I want it any way I can get away with.

“That’s another reason I had differing partners. None of them wanted to wait until the itch returns. _You_ won’t be bothered that it’ll be two, three months or perhaps even longer till I might need a little help again.”

“No, I won’t,” he agreed, continuing to rid her of the grime. “By the way – ‘Pat’? Are we talking about Patricia McIllway from hydroponics?”

He saw her nod with closed eyes as he started ‘cleaning’ her boobs slowly and thoroughly.

“Now that’s a pairing I wouldn’t have expected. She seems to be a shy wallflower if I ever saw one, and you definitely aren’t.”

Anna chuckled. “It wouldn’t have happened had I not accidentally caught her diddling herself over one of my earlier picture series. I think it was the one where I posed on the warp reactor wearing nothing but a tool belt. She’d forgotten to lock the door and there she sat, in the middle of all the flowers in hydroponics, having fun with herself.”

“Let me guess,” he said, continuing to gently soap her up. “You had an eye on her before, but you thought that she’d run screaming if you asked her out.”

“Exactly,” his partner in crime replied, lifting her leg slightly when he started ‘cleaning’ her carefully shaven nether regions. “She was so terrified by being caught, she actually started crying. Once she was in my arms, there was no turning back.”

“And she’s okay with this?” he asked, gently fingering her wet opening.

“She’s actually happy that it’s you,” she answered, her breathing growing more labored from his ministrations. “She wasn’t sure about some of my past partners, but she trusts you. Everybody on the ship knows whom your heart really belongs to, even my wallflower sweetheart.”

“Are we that obvious?”

“Damn right you are,” she sighed and turned around, steadying herself with her hands against the wall. “Which one do you want first – pussy or butt?”

“You _do_ have quite a program planned,” he said with a surprised chuckle and a playful swat on the shapely rear-end presented to him as she bent forward and braced herself against the wall; she even had muscles on her butt. “But we’ll start the traditional way first.”

“Don’t worry, I’m well cleaned up back there,” she said with an excited sigh as he ran the tip of his erection along the length of her labia.

“That explains why you needed to ‘grab something to eat’ two hours ago,” Trip said with amusement and slowly sank his organ into her waiting opening, her hips firmly in the grip of his hands. The happy squeal as he did so told him that he wasn’t the only one who had waited a long time.

“Now stop talking and get moving,” his partner growled, but without menace. “God it’s been so long since I’ve been properly fucked.”

Happily obliging by thrusting in and out of her with zeal, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Normally Anna next-to-never swore. Sex seemed to be a different matter, and his fellow engineering whizz-kid seemed to have a knack for talking dirty.

“Ask me,” he pressed out between labored breaths. “Damn Anna, do you have muscles everywhere?”

“You should see my sweetheart trying to get her finger back out, if I squeeze _really_ hard,” she wheezed with a strangled giggle as his hips slammed against her rear again and again.

He could feel how she clenched her vaginal muscles some more, destroying his rhythm when he suddenly felt a lot more resistance.

“Dammit, you’re tight, hon,” he groaned, increasing his effort to keep the pace up. His partner just moaned happily and continued to ‘massage’ his tool with her – quite frankly – amazing muscle control.

=/\=

He’d lost any sense for how long they had been ‘at it’, but at his best guess it must have been a minimum of three weeks. Whenever Anna had sensed that he was close, she had clamped up her muscles, trapping him in position, almost painfully, until he had cooled off enough to continue.

But now she was in no condition to play muscle tricks anymore. Nearing her own climax, she was almost out of her mind, wheezing, whimpering and begging to be banged harder. Her large jugs swung back and forth making quite naughty slapping sounds.

He couldn’t remember that his thigh muscles had ever been on fire like this, except perhaps for that half-marathon around Sausalito in ’49. With a deep guttural grunt his partner started to shiver and she groaned as a massive climax rocked her.

Despite the fact that his own release hit mere moments later, he had the presence of mind to let go of her hips and reach around to grab and caress her boobs with both hands. On one hand he could keep up some stimulation as the whimpering woman wound down from her massive orgasm and it prevented her from falling down as her muscled body had gone almost completely limp.

They were both still catching their breath when his now flaccid organ slipped out of her. He gently helped her lower herself to the floor. They both came to sit next to each other, their backs to the wall, breathing heavily. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Jeez, Trip, I don’t think I’ve ever been done like that.”

“That goes … both ways. That muscle trick of yours is something else,” he wheezed, still out of breath.  

“Doesn’t work with most people; that’s the problem I was having. Finding someone who wants to bang a babe with big boobs is the easiest thing in the world. Especially since they’ve all seen me butt naked. But they don’t know how to please a woman. That’s why I was trying so hard to seduce you. You know what the heck you’re doing.”

“Before I met T’Pol I wouldn’t have had the necessary mental detachment to return to being just Trip and Anna – friends and fellow officers – again,” he admitted honestly, and it was true. Such an amazing experience would have proven far too intoxicating were it not for the fact that he was convinced that it would pale in comparison to what would happen on the day T’Pol was free from that mockery of a betrothal.

“Friends with benefits, for the time being,” she added, giving his arm a light squeeze. “I was serious, Trip. You did so well, it could easily be three if not four months until I need _him_ again,” she said, squeezing the now somewhat floppy little engineer with a mischievous grin. “If you need help before that happens, even if it is just a quick blow-job, just ask. Pat’s okay with that.”

“With the emphasis on _the time being_ ,” he returned with a grin of his own. “The moment I’m being told that T’Pol is out of that damned arranged marriage thing, _this_ will be a thing of the past. As amazing an experience that just was, it still doesn’t feel completely right.”

Anna snorted, and he could easily see she was trying hard not to laugh.

“The moment you learn that T’Pol’s free, she’ll be lucky to make it off the Bridge before you have her peeled out her uniform,” she needled him, cackling.

“Damn right,” he said, and they were sharing a laugh.

“But I wasn’t joking, Trip,” she said once they had finished being amused at each other. “If you need it, ask. You were really cranky the last few days and remember, T’Pol is a Vulcan. For her, sensing your crankiness is like listening to nails scratching along a chalkboard. It was hard for her to ask you to do this and you would really hurt her if you take up her proposal and still be cranky.”

“Don’t worry, Anna; I’m not a teenager, needin’ to get laid every second day. But a whole year – that was much too long, even for an old man like me. Although I’m not so sure she’s really thought through her other suggestion. I might have to take you up on that quick blow-job offer.”

“Old man, my ass,” she mocked him and swatted him on the arm. “What did she suggest?”

“That I take over for your lost photographer,” he said with a chuckle. “Knowing some of your other series’ shots, I’m not sure I can snap those without needing some ‘help’ afterwards. After all, mental detachment or not, you’re sexy as hell. I’d have to be dead not to react to a hot body like yours.”

“Richardson never made it through a single session without needing help,” she cackled. “But why did T’Pol suggest that?”

“You won’t believe it. She thinks I should get some practice shooting people instead of landscapes, because at some point I will run into a ‘more interesting subject to photograph’.”

Anna leaned on him and let rip. She was laughing hysterically. Her large boobs with their still very erect nipples were bouncing as she couldn’t stop her guffaws; even spent as he was, he couldn’t help admiring the view.

“That commander of yours is the catch of the century,” she said after a long while, still grinning widely. “I’ll kick your butt out of airlock seven if you ever let her slip through your fingers.”

“Speaking of butt,” he said looking down at his crotch. “Are you sure you need another round? I’m not sure I’m up to it. Another aspect of not being twenty anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m as sated as I could be. But next time I want it in the ass. It’s been ages since someone managed to make it feel good instead of just making my butt hurt.”

“No pressure then,” he said with a chuckle. “You sound like that’s not an uncommon occurrence.”

She sat back and Trip turned to her, knowing that some sort of confession was to come.  “Before I realized that I actually prefer women, I had a boyfriend. Pretty gentle, loving guy, actually. One day I had the idea of trying it up the ass, so I went through all the preparations, you know, giving myself an enema to clean up back there, buying lube, everything. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.”

“But at some point you realized, as good as it is to have one in you,” he said pointing at his deflated organ, “it happens too infrequently.”

“Exactly,” she said, growing wistful. “It still haunts me that I had to break the poor guy’s heart. But I couldn’t live a lie. I had already fallen in love with my first girlfriend.”

“You did the right thing, Anna,” he said gently rubbing his fingers along her arm. “An old immigrant lady from Germany that lived next to us in Florida used to say 'Better end viz terror zen terror vizout end’.”

She smiled at him in gratitude, amused by his mock German accent, and he returned the smile.

“Will you be okay?” she asked.

“It’ll probably be a bit awkward meeting T’Pol once we get out of here. It simply doesn’t feel entirely right, even if I keep telling myself that she actually talked me into it herself. But in the end I hope it’s worth it. I mean,” he stopped, searching for the right words – the last thing he wanted was her to feel bad about what they’d just done.  “In one way I feel like a new man, but on the other hand I feel bad about how it has come about, y’know?”

“But you still think you should have endured it, don’t you,” Anna said and helped him stand up. They started the showers again to wash of the sweat.

“Yes,” Trip admitted. “But then I try to convince myself that she’ll have an easier time when I’m not frustrated. She actually hugged me last night and I hope that’ll happen a bit more often, if I’m more even-keeled.”

“She will be,” Anna said as they soaped up, each of them his or her own body this time. “And as far as your discomfort goes:  we both know this is a temporary arrangement until she can take care of you herself without having to fear being shot by the High Command. Until then, just do yourself, and T’Pol, the favor of making sure this arrangement has the desired outcome. _Say_ something if you can’t help it anymore.”

“How do you know, if _you_ ‘need it’?” he asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

“Usually I don’t,” Anna answered, rinsing off the soap and he could hear her chuckle through the sound of the falling water. “My better half does. She says my tongue-work gets sloppy when I’ve gone too long without a proper male seeing-to. When she says ‘get a man’, I do.”

“I take it she’s strictly lesbian?” he asked, while he helped her wrap her hair in a towel.

“Thanks,” she acknowledged his help. “Yeah, unlike me Pat’s known since childhood that she loves women, and _un_ like me she has absolutely no use for boys. She actually thinks sticking something in her is gross. She doesn’t even use a vibrator on me or herself.”

“Strange,” Trip admitted with a boyish grin. “But it explains your excellent tongue-work.”

“Sometimes I don’t even get this far,” Anna said, peering at him over her shoulder with an equally mischievous smile. “Sometimes she comes the first time before I’m even done with her boobs. She’s so orgasmic, I swear, one day I’ll have to sedate her.”

With that she sauntered off towards the locker room, leaving a hysterically laughing chief engineer behind.


	16. Horrifying Discovery

He sat in his quarters, tiredly burying his face in his palms. It had come about exactly as he had feared.

Granted, having finally resigned himself to follow T’Pol’s proposal of having his ‘tensions eased’, he and Anna had done a spectacularly good job of catering for each other’s cravings. Anna was not the problem. Once they’d done what had to be done, they were back to being friends and first- and second-in-command of engineering. Neither of them was suddenly starting to grin at the other knowingly or anything.

The problem was T’Pol. Just as he had expected, their interaction had become awkward. Like they had done for quite a while now, they had gravitated toward each other in the mess hall. Whoever came later would join the other at his or her table, and their respective partner would always be alone there as nobody in his right mind would dare interrupt the daily routine of what was commonly referred to as ‘the First Couple’, at least if the ship’s hyperactive rumor mill was to be believed.

But today the meal had proceeded in deafening silence.  Even the few words they had been exchanging were laced with overbearing politeness and an infuriating distance. It was truly infuriating. As if he hadn’t warned her of exactly that – she found it hard to accept that he had actually done it.

And he was starting to wonder why the heck he’d ever believed it could work.

=/\=

It would only be several hours until they would return to the starbase, now that Charles and Lieutenant Hess’ teams had restored the ship’s warp capabilities.

T'Pol stared out blankly at the stars streaking past as Enterprise glided though the dark void of space. It had been obvious to her that Charles and Lieutenant Hess had engaged in sexual contact, and in a short – even miniscule – moment of contact her keen senses had picked up that his mind was now much more at ease, but – infuriatingly – she had not managed to deal with the fact as even-mindedly as she had been convinced she would be able to.

It might be more correct to say that his _body_ was much more at ease.  His mind was not.  He felt guilty for what he had done, and his guilt manifested itself as awkwardness.  This made her awkward in return, even more so than her own illogical response to the new situation would have done.

No doubt, at this very moment, he would be somewhere on the ship, bemoaning the fact that his prior misgivings had been proven correct.  She needed to find a solution, and Lieutenant Hess was the key.

=/\=

Pat McIllway was a very happy, and a very sated woman. Whenever Anna had gotten her occasional need for a man out of her system, the next days would be pure bliss as her beloved partner would make her feel _really_ good, and considering the ferocity of today’s love-making, the tryst with commander Tucker had been a gift from heaven.

But when she saw Anna’s worried glance after answering the door bell, she knew there were going to be repercussions.  Their visitor turned out to be a very miserable looking commander T’Pol. Her heart sank.  She’d suspected all along that what had brought a whole new dynamic to her relationship with Anna could possibly damage the relationship between the ship’s chief engineer and the first officer – and if this was the case, the cost was too high.

“Shall I leave you alone?” Pat asked shyly.

“No,” the Vulcan answered. “In fact, I believe it may be quite helpful if you stayed.”

Pat nodded silently as their visitor took a seat on their bunk. She looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Was Trip’s fear right? Do you find it difficult to deal with it, now that you’re faced with the fact and not just a theoretical concept?” she heard Anna ask outright, and was frightened by the blunt approach of her partner. After all, Vulcans were said to be much stronger than humans, and she was speaking to the ship’s first officer, no less.

To her relief the Vulcan’s reply was level, if hesitant.

“It is not the fact that you and Charles…,” and Pat’s heart skipped a beat when the Vulcan was suddenly looking at her. Her eyes had no malice in them, in fact they looked almost pleading. “Ms. McIllway, since your situation is not unlike mine – Have you ever felt guilty because you could not care for all your mate’s needs and had to ask someone else for help?”

“E-every time,” she surprised herself by admitting openly, and looked down in embarrassment. She cast a careful glance at Anna, as that was a topic she had not even discussed with her own partner before, but somehow the words kept just coming. “For me it’s not even as bad as for you. I would only have to overcome my aversion to certain practices. From what little Anna has told me, you would be in grave danger if you tried.”

The Vulcan nodded her confirmation. Pat could see that Anna was quite shocked by her admission, but she couldn’t help herself. Her hands jammed between her thighs, the words just kept gushing out in relief at having finally met someone who could perhaps understand her.

“Today was the first time I didn’t pace the room like a caged animal, knowing that Anna was with a man.  You need to know, we have no secrets. I knew that she was going to seduce Commander Tucker before she left to do so. At first, when we were just starting to live together, I thought it was better not to know it, but, you know, even if the truth _is_ uncomfortable – and sometimes even painful – nothing is as bad as the thoughts you make up in your own mind.”

“What was different today?” the commander asked.

“Your commander Tucker was the difference,” Pat said feeling a shy smile cross her features. “Commander Tucker is intelligent, caring and has been a friend of Anna for a long time. For the first time I knew she wouldn’t come back disappointed, and believe me, she wasn’t. And he is the _one_ person I trust to be able to handle such a delicate arrangement. If I may say so, when the day comes for you, and I hope that will be sooner, rather than later, even if that means I’ll have to worry a bit more again, you’ll have the right partner in every aspect.”

“Roger that,” she heard Anna agree, though she was obviously speaking around a lump in her throat. Her partner had obviously been quite moved. Although if that was because of her admission, or stemming from the fact that she’d spoken more than in the last three months combined, was hard to tell.

“It was not my intention to bring discontent to your relationship,” the Vulcan started to apologize and Pat surprised herself yet again when she silenced none other than the ship’s first officer with a wave of her hand.

“You didn’t, Commander. In fact you somehow made me talk more than I ever have since I was three. Our guilt is misplaced, but we can’t get rid of it. You’ll just have to learn to deal with it, just as I did.”

“I understand your logic,” the Vulcan agreed. “Yet I find myself unable to find out how.”

“As a practical measure, just _talk_ about it,” Pat said, amazed how easy she suddenly found it to talk. “Even if it feels weird, talk openly about things. It’s awfully convenient to say ‘I don’t wanna know the details’, but trust me the details you make up in your mind are usually much worse than the reality of it. And since we’re in a similar situation, feel free to drop by whenever you feel a need to talk. Since you are the only person beside Anna I seem to be able to converse with without getting tongue-tied, there’s no danger of me telling anyone.”

She finished her monologue with another shy almost-smile that made her heart jump when it got her a teary, but very proud smile from Anna.

“And if I may add a suggestion of my own,” her better half jumped in. “Trip was practically gushing today when he told me that you had hugged him last night. I think that made his day more than anything I had to offer. If it doesn’t get you into trouble with that bat-shit crazy High Command of yours, sometimes it’s the little things that make much more impact.”

“Anna,” Pat whispered about her beloved’s language. It had not been the first time that Anna had run roughshod over decorum lately.

“Oh, and strictly secret among us choir girls,” her partner continued undeterred, and Pat had to cover her mouth seeing Anna’s very mischievous grin. “You better make sure you come good on your promise about the ‘very interesting subject’ for his photography one day. I’ll gladly help him hone his skills, but his masterpiece should be something special.”

Pat lost the fight and doubled over. The guffaws just wouldn’t stop.

=/\=

T’Pol walked along the corridor, returning from her conversation with Lieutenant Hess and her mate. Why everyone thought that Ensign McIllway was socially inept to the point of being almost mute did not readily appear logical.

The conversation had not necessarily solved the problems that troubled her mind, but knowing there was someone she could convene with for advice made a stark difference. Now it was a matter of combining the advice of Lieutenant Hess and her beloved to undo the injustice she had done to Charles by letting him live in the erroneous belief that his actions had caused her emotional turmoil. When she arrived at his quarters, she steeled herself and pressed the button.

=/\=

“Come,” Trip said morosely when the door chime sounded, and dumped the last remnants of fluid in the bottle down his throat. Thankfully this was the only bottle he had had so far, because, even if it was Jon, nobody could accuse him of breaking the relaxed booze rules. Truth be told, however, he felt very much like getting utterly shitfaced to forget about this unholy mess at least for an hour or two.

He didn’t even need to turn around to see who it was. Nobody else would instinctively crank up the environmental controls before even make her presence known.

“Told you it was a bad idea,” he said into the emptiness ahead of him, while T’Pol was most likely standing somewhere behind him in her rigid hands-behind-her-back pose.

To his surprise she came to stand right in front of him, fixing him with a glance that, even after weeks of practice, he couldn’t quite riddle out. At least it didn’t look like one of those death stares of hers that would leave him pregnant, or even worse, dead.

He looked on in baffled and dumbfounded surprise as she straddled him, sitting down across his knees, still looking him into the eyes. Her arms snaked around his neck and she edged even closer. They spent god-knows-how-many moments just resting cheek to cheek, while his heart sang with relief.  As fantastic as it had been with Anna, _this_ was what he craved for.

“I have wronged you, beloved,” she whispered. “I should not have projected my insecurities to you.”

“Insecurities my ass,” he snorted. “All we managed is making you miserable.”

She drew back slightly and there it was again, this enigmatic look.

“I am not miserable, Charles. I have received valuable advice from Anna Hess and her mate. Will you tell me about your… meeting?”

“Are you crazy?” he gasped.

“You don’t have to go into … _too much_ detail,” she amended – and there was that wickedly raised eyebrow again – for the first time in quite some time.

=/\=

The first thing he noticed when he was ripped from a rather pleasant dream was, that either his bed had shrunk to the width of a wall-mounted shelf or he wasn’t alone in it; and the familiar sandalwood scent left no doubt that it was T’Pol who had hogged a sizeable portion of the available real estate. He kicked back the blanket in horror, but to his utter relief they were both fully clothed – in fact in full uniform. Thank god they hadn’t done anything stupid that would win T’Pol a ticket to death row on Vulcan!

Only now he realized that it was the incessant beep of the intercom that had so rudely cut short his sleep.

“What?” he growled after punching the button, too irritated and punch-drunk from having been ripped out of his deep sleep to follow radio discipline. His attempts at keeping his voice down had obviously been equally hopeless as T’Pol started to stir.

“Doctor Phlox. I apologize, commander, but can you please come to sickbay… urgently?” The tone of Phlox’ voice and the noise coming through the intercom dealt with his sleepiness in a darn hurry.

“T’Lara?” he asked, hearing unmistakable sounds of distress in the background.

“Yes, PLEASE, commander!”

By now T’Pol was wide awake too, and both of them darted out of his quarters, not bothering with shoes – and as their rotten luck would have it they ran straight into Jon and Porthos.

“Trip?”  The captain’s jaw dropped.

“Out of the way, Jon!” he hissed and tackled the captain aside, prompting some very upset barking from the dog, who didn’t quite appreciate the assault on his owner. Since the ruckus didn’t die down, he just knew that he and T’Pol would now be pursued by a mightily peeved captain and an ill-tempered canine.

Not missing a beat, he ran into sickbay. In fact he had to snake through a rather slim gap as the automatic doors couldn’t quite keep up with his urgency to get past it.

“I know _very_ little Vulcan, but the work _Mishek_ has featured quite prominently. I tried to remove her shirt for the checkup and suddenly she broke down,” Phlox said, clearly way past the end of his rope, as they could hear that T’Lara had badly and utterly lost it.

Well, there was only one person who had been introduced as _the Engineer_ to the currently hysterically screaming Vulcan, so Trip dove behind the privacy screen, trying to gather her up in his arms - it had helped before…

Whatever had prompted that meltdown, it was worse than before as she started aimlessly swinging her small fists as soon as she felt someone touching her. Although he had visited her daily and according to Phlox she had actually been screaming the only name she knew him by, she was now so terrorized that she did not seem to be able to recognize him.T’Lara was hardly a championship boxer, but she was a Vulcan, and landed some quite painful hits on his nose and his right ear. The feeling of warm liquid running down his upper lip told him that the last punch had done some damage and made his nose bleed.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see that T’Pol was looking at the scene in abject dismay and even Jon seemed to have forgotten his anger for the moment; and most importantly of all, he’d silenced the damn dog!

For want of a better idea, he started reciting the ancient Vulcan story he had read to her two days ago. Not that he remembered much of it, but after Hoshi had given him the PADD with the transliteration, he’d had to work so hard to get the hang of it just enough to get through the first few sentences that he still remembered them.

Hearing the – probably quite butchered – recitation T’Lara suddenly calmed down and her hysteria was reduced to a ‘mere’ nerve-wrecking crying in his arms.

“I’m gonna kill the fucking prick!” he growled menacingly to nobody in particular, clutching the crying girl to his chest.

=/\=

“I won’t be pressing any charges against Trip,” Jon said with a faint smile as T’Pol sat across from him in his ready room. “I maybe would have, if it wasn’t for the fact that I saw myself _why_ Phlox had summoned him.”

“Thank you, captain,” T’Pol replied and her voice sounded utterly empty. How much would he wish for her usual even-keeled tone. But the hollowness in her voice was more frightening than anything else. Something told him the ship’s first officer was not in a good shape.

“How are they?”

“The nose bleed is superficial, but Commander Tucker had to stay in sickbay. T’Lara would not remain calm if he relinquished contact even for a moment.”

“We have a huge problem,” Jon said. “Actually, two. First: I don’t think we even know half of what the girl has been through. Such a violent breakdown is not the result of ‘just’ being abducted. And second: I don’t think Trip was joking. I’m afraid he’ll really try to lynch M’Gambe. And if I’ve come to know Malcolm well enough, he’ll have a willing accomplice.”

“Two,” T’Pol remarked in a dark voice, chilling Jon to the bone. “I doubt either of them will even arrive before I have already dealt with him.”

“T’Pol!” he admonished her in a soft voice. To his utter shock she stood up slowly and fixed him with a look of that was now one of sheer unadulterated rage.

“As of thirty minutes ago, _I_ know what she has been through. Thankfully Charles’ knowledge of Vulcan is not comprehensive enough to understand everything she has said during her breakdown tonight,” the Vulcan said slowly and in a menacing way that made him lean back slightly in purely instinctive apprehension. “T’Lara is a child, a _young_ child, yet she has been _raped_ by the ‘Commodore’ and his people. Never mind that abusing a child is _unspeakable_ , she is one of only three females that might be able to save the clan. I doubt she will ever be able to _mate_!”

Jon found he was cold with visceral fear. T’Pol’s posture was menacing enough to intimidate the toughest of men, her teeth bared in a blind rage. And that was not taking into account the gravity of the threat she’d just made. Clamping down on his own horror, he had to get the situation under control. His XO’s rage was enough for him to reach for the hidden holster under his desk and unlock the weapon. An out-of-control Vulcan – well – a _second_ one, was the last thing this ship needed and Trip couldn’t take care of both of them. Jeez, never mind if the chief engineer ever learned what had really happened to the girl. He would have to shoot him, too.

=/\=

“Jon, what is this all about?” Maxwell Forrest asked when the subspace link to Enterprise was finally established. Both ships were about 12 hours away from starbase 74 respectively, but from different directions.  In such circumstances a ship-to-ship link was nothing unusual, if it wasn’t for the fact that the captain of _Enterprise_ was looking as if he was about to puke all over the screen at any moment.

“We have a massive crisis at hand, Max. I just had my first officer, the chief engineer and a Vulcan child confined to quarters under heavy guard, mainly to save them from themselves.”

“Can you state the nature of the crisis?” Soval was in the room with Max, something the captain only discovered as the Vulcan stepped into viewer range.  It evidently wasn’t a welcome discovery; he paled visibly.

Max’s stomach seemed to go into freefall as he absorbed the significance of Jon’s next words.  “Max, if you have a weapon… Set it to stun and keep it unlocked. You don’t wanna know what happened to T’Pol when she answered that question when _I_ asked it.”

“Such a measure will not be necessary,” Soval said. “If Captain Archer, however, is about to say what I fear he will, it may threaten to overwhelm even the strongest of Vulcans.”

“The Vulcan child we rescued,” the captain paused. “She’s been raped… by humans.”

Maxwell didn’t even look – he knew it was best to leave Soval alone when the Ambassador walked out of the room – _very swiftly_ for a man of his age.


	17. Malcolm's Secret

Trip had always dreamed of having a family, but this was not how he had envisioned it coming about. Not that they _were_ a family, but that was what living in the same quarters with a woman and a child felt like.

Looking up from his console, he saw T’Pol and T’Lara sitting across from each other in deep meditation. He wondered what Vulcan butts were made of, considering that they’d been sitting there motionless for the last six hours straight with nothing but a slim pillow underneath them for comfort. For a moment he’d almost forgotten that they were technically under arrest to prevent them from killing M’Gambe as soon as they arrived at the station, which – as a look at the chronometer confirmed – would happen in about four hours.

The frightening thing was, the decision was warranted. _He_ would perhaps have backed out of his intention, but T’Pol had made it clear that she was not open to negotiation in regard to her determination to make sure that Vulcan law was enforced. And that age-old law prescribed death at the hands of the victim’s clan, executable by any member of said clan willing to do the bloody deed.

To say that his quarters were cramped was an understatement. Two folding beds had been added to the interior for T’Pol and T’Lara. Originally T’Pol had been confined to her own quarters with the child, while he was locked away in his own, but a rather contrite-looking captain had delivered them into his care a mere two hours later; he could only speculate that Soval had something to do with that, having heard that for reasons unknown, he seemed to be the only one who could console the little girl.

Having been cooped up with them in the small space and seeing the interaction between him and T’Pol, their young guest had finally started to lose her fear of her fellow Vulcan. He was utterly lost for ideas as to why the battered young thing would seek protection from him – someone of the same gender and species as the very people who had abused her – but had trouble accepting someone from her own clan.

How Starfleet planned to get them out of this was a mystery. The High Command was already breathing down their necks – after all, somewhere out there was a Vulcan cruiser with T’Pol’s former handler aboard, from whom they had fled in the first place. When word got around what humans had done to a young Vulcan child, there was no way the Vulcans wouldn't retaliate, and they had more weapons on a single ship than humanity could summon if they assembled their whole fleet – hell, Enterprise was the only ship that could go past warp three!

It was hard for him not to succumb to tears now that T'Pol had reluctantly disclosed the reason behind T'Lara's melt-down. What he really wanted to do was going on a killing rampage, but showing his true feelings would just add to the pain of the young one in their care. So he put up a brave facade and swallowed down the heartbreak he felt. How mundane did those problems of yesterday now appear, considering what horror T'Lara had gone through.

=/\=

Jon paced the room like a caged animal. Why had he even bothered to lock Trip and T'Pol away? Arriving back at Starbase 74, a neither surprised nor even remotely apologetic-looking Lieutenant Reed had reported that Commodore M'Gambe and his five men in the brig had ‘committed suicide'.

Was Reed thinking _Enterprise_ 's captain was roaming the ship at night, licking windows? And Max seemed not to be too bothered about the veracity of Reed's 'report'. He had just taken it at face value.  Or at least seemed disinclined to dig any deeper into the murky depths the words so effectively hid.

Granted, the six people were no loss to the universe, there wasn't really much reason to mourn the 'unfortunate demise' of a bunch of child rapists, but this still went against everything Starfleet was supposed to stand for. What had happened to putting people on trial for their misdeeds? Whatever the Commodore and his henchmen had done, Jon wasn't prepared to let Reed get away with this.  He was as appalled as he was furious that his Tactical Officer had seen fit to appoint himself judge, jury and executioner.  What the hell had happened to Malcolm’s sense of justice, let alone his regard for the rule of law?

Maxwell and the subject of his ire had just entered the room when his screen sprang to life unsolicited. The face of a gray-haired man in his fifties appeared on it.

“Who are you?” Jon spat, so enraged that he didn’t even acknowledge the arrival of his superior officer.

“My name doesn't matter, Captain. Although it isn't my normal approach, Starfleet has convinced me that it is better to inform you about some things.”

He looked back at the stranger, not best pleased that someone could remotely operate his kit from Earth. What point was there in being the fucking Captain if some run-down shmuck could commandeer his screen from back home whenever it took his fancy?

“Whatever you come up with as an excuse for my tactical officer murdering people, I suggest you make it a spectacularly good one,” he growled, after pausing just long enough to establish that he was in no hurry to engage in conversation with someone he didn’t know and didn’t want to. Not only was that piker intruding into his comm system, he had also an air of utter arrogance about him.

A faint smile touched the iron mouth.  “You might want to reread the Starfleet Charter, Captain – especially Article fourteen, Section thirty-one. There are a few lines that make allowances for bending the rules during ‘times of extraordinary threat’.”

“Then I take it you told my tactical officer to 'bend the rules'?”

“I think I should answer that question myself, Captain,” his tactical officer interposed calmly, and Jon sent him a look of rage that made sure to convey that he wasn't in the mood to be sold a bullshit story.

Reed met the look, unflinching.  “The gentleman you're talking to is my former superior officer. Before I accepted a demotion to Lieutenant to join this ship's crew, I was part of an organization that calls itself Section 31, in reference to the aforementioned article of the Starfleet charter. You could call it Starfleet's secret service if you like.”

“It looks as if you haven't quite cut _all_ your ties with that organization, Lieutenant,” the captain snapped, not at all satisfied with the Brit’s explanation although he did find it quite surprising that the man had actually accepted a demotion to join the crew.

“It was my decision, Jon,” Maxwell explained, his expression only slightly apologetic. “As the man will tell you, he wasn’t very happy about Lieutenant Reed's departure, but he couldn’t prevent it. Reed said he was done with the Section, but I personally asked him to do one last mission for it.”

“This isn't 1850, Max,” the captain said in an irritated voice. “We don't hang people without giving them a fair trial anymore! You've put Reed in an impossible situation. How am I to trust him now?  How can I be sure he won't take your orders again – or _his_ – rather than mine, if the next crisis happens?” He jerked his head contemptuously towards the man on the screen as he spoke.

“I can't promise you that it won't come to that,” the Admiral admitted. “The only thing I can promise is that Lieutenant Reed will be authorized to inform you about it in the future. We hope we never find ourselves in such a mess again, but we can't say it won’t happen.”

“Why now?” Jon demanded curtly.

“Jon, if _any_ Vulcan besides Soval and your first officer learns of what happened to the girl, we'll have a heavily armed fleet of Vulcan battle cruisers in orbit and they won't be in a mood for talking. There was no other way to deal with it. It's not something I'll be living easily with, but it had to be done. Soval wrecked his guest quarters on the way here – with his bare hands! Imagine what happens if three billion Vulcans learn of it.”

“Perhaps Starfleet should punish corrupt officers instead of giving them command of a Starbase so they can commit even more crimes,” Jon replied snottily. He was properly fed up with Starfleet's back-room dealing and their decision to corrupt his tactical officer to cover up their own failures.

“This is not meant to leave this room,” Forrest answered, lowering his voice. “You are preaching to the choir, Jon. The order came directly from the President's office. We were busy basking in our own magnificence about launching our first Warp Five ship. A corruption scandal in Starfleet would have been a PR disaster.”

“And you call this better?” he bit back, incredulous.

“We _are_ talking about _politicians_ ,” Max replied and Jon registered the disgust in his friend's voice for the first time. He’d been too busy with his own anger to notice it before. “They only think from twelve till lunch-time. Everything beyond the next elections doesn't matter. And even if we can't make public what M'Gambe did, trust me, we won’t let them forget what a monumental clusterfuck that particular decision turned out to be.”

Jon sat back, some of his wrath cooling.  Maxwell wasn't exactly known for a propensity to swear. Whatever the situation was, his old friend was clearly under a lot of pressure.

“I want to talk to my tactical officer, so if you would leave us alone? _All_ of you.”

He added the last bit with an unmistakable stare at the screen, and it went dark immediately as the image of the mysterious guy went as quickly as it had appeared.  Not trusting a system that could be hacked into with such ease, Jon yanked the electrical connection out of the wall socket as well, just to make sure.

With a last apologetic look, the Admiral left the office.

It wasn't the normal way in which Jon would speak to a superior officer, and he was aware that Max had cut him a heck of a lot of slack, understanding how he must feel, but the situation had seriously dented his authority and Jon couldn't be bothered to hide the resulting irritation.

And _now_ he had to deal with Malcolm.

=/\=

“Sorry,” Trip muttered as T'Pol shook him awake, her face wearing a look of utter bewilderment.

The reason for that became obvious in a hurry. It wasn't every day that he woke to see the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth standing in his quarters. But the bigger issue at hand was the Vulcan child sleeping soundly tucked up in the circle of his arms.

“She wouldn't sleep unless she could crawl in here,” he said, abashed that a member of a race that considered touching a stranger as taboo would find one of their own in the arms of a representative of the race that had tormented her.

“There is no need to apologize, Commander,” the old Vulcan said in an uncharacteristically soft tone. “In fact, I have come to ask you a rather serious question.”

Trip looked blankly at his guest.

“According to the information given to the High Command, T'Lara and her entire family have been killed during the Nausicaan raid of the Vulcan outpost. The authorities are not aware that the child survived, nor do they know of her… ordeal.”

He held his breath. Since his childhood the Ambassador had, in his mind, been the epitome of a 'controlled Vulcan'. Hearing Soval's voice thick with pain as he referred obliquely to T'Lara's fate was chilling.

“All I can say is, sorry,” he muttered, helpless in the face of the two Vulcans' agony. T'Pol looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any time; now _that_ would be totally scary. He was still remembering vividly that Jon had turned her over into his care with a drawn weapon.

Thankfully, oblivious to all this, the child remained sound asleep in his embrace.

“You are not the perpetrator of this… outrage, Commander. It is indeed fortunate that the child found someone with whom to seek refuge.”  The Ambassador's voice was still uncharacteristically thick with emotion.  He paused before continuing, with what in another man might almost have been shyness, “Are … are you and T'Pol prepared to become the child's _en'ahr'at_?”

“Her what?”

“Her adoptive parents,” T'Pol chipped in. and just as he had expected, her voice left little doubt that the long hours of meditation had not nearly been enough for her to regain her equilibrium.

“We aren't...” he started to deny any illicit relationship, but was silenced by the Ambassador's raised hand.

“Commander, your obvious attraction to T'Pol and the reciprocation of the sentiment is visible to any Vulcan who pays attention to your interaction – something both of you might want to keep in mind if there are Vulcans present who do not have your full trust. I would not have inquired about your willingness to accept this responsibility if I was not convinced of the fact that it would be beneficial to the child's well-being.”

“I'd hack off a leg before saying no,” Trip answered, subconsciously hugging T'Lara a little closer. “But I'm not sure what Starfleet will make of that idea.”

“Admiral Forrest has agreed to this... arrangement,” the gray-haired Vulcan explained. “He also agreed to my request that T'Lara should remain aboard this vessel. Her survival has to be kept a secret at all costs.”

Trip fought hard but couldn't help it when tears filled his eyes and one or two escaped down his face.

“I just wish I could kill those bastards,” he said, swallowing the sob of pain at his own helplessness. Instead of doing what he really wanted to – killing those who had tortured the small creature in his arms – he was locked away in his quarters, with nothing better to look forward to than another day of trying to console her. It was unlikely she would get through the day without crying.

It wasn’t like he grudged the effort; he was only thankful that he could give her any comfort at all.  But it didn’t feel anything like as good as handing out some punishment on her account would.

To his surprise, Soval walked over, putting his hand on his own, which was resting between the child’s shoulder blades.  The ambassador’s gaze had gone flat and cold, just like his voice as he said,  “The perpetrators of this unspeakable crime are no longer alive.”

“You did kill them.” T'Pol was stating the obvious, and Trip felt a shiver run down his spine when he heard the deep and grim satisfaction in her voice, reminding him that the beautiful woman he loved had been not merely prepared, but _determined_ , to end the bastards' lives with her own hands.

“I did not execute them,” Soval said drily, withdrawing his hand so that he could gently clasp that of T’Lara, currently draped around Trip’s neck. “They took their own lives. Apparently your Lieutenant Reed presented them with an alternative that made it appear to be a desirable endeavor.”

“It was our clan's prerogative to assert Vulcan law,” T'Pol replied hotly. It was obvious that she was not best pleased to be robbed of the chance to take bloody revenge. It was a stark reminder to Trip that Vulcans were descendants of a warrior race, and that any idea of them 'not having emotions' was the biggest line of bull ever. In fact, T'Pol had displayed quite a few of them since learning of T'Lara's fate.

“Control yourself child,” he heard the Ambassador chide her for the outburst. “Vulcan law has been observed. Prior to the decision to motivate the child's tormentors to end their lives, eldest Mother T'Para adopted Lieutenant Reed as a son of our clan. She was not agreeable to the necessity of taking lives, but she accepted the lack of alternatives to this course of action.”

“I shall express my gratitude to _krei_ Malcolm for his willingness to take on this... distasteful responsibility.”

Despite the fresh tears on his face, Trip found himself smiling. T'Pol had accepted Malcolm into their clan as if it happened every day that a human joined it. Her voice sounded less emotional now that she knew the crime had been avenged. It wasn't a very civilized emotion to have, but he felt a deep vindication that M’Gambe and his men had faced the consequences of their misdeeds.

His emotional turmoil, however, had woken the child, reminding him of the fact that Vulcans were touch-telepaths.

 _“They are dead, are they not?”_ the young Vulcan asked in her native tongue, looking at him with pleading eyes, and still snuggled up to him very closely.

 _“Yes. They not hurt you anymore,”_ he returned, seeing a slight blush of embarrassment on T'Pol's face at his butchered use of the language in front of the Ambassador.

Now that the child was awake, he sat up, allowing her to sit in his lap. He had his arms slung around her waist for reassurance, since she still seemed nervous.

“Sorry,” he muttered, promising mentally to work harder on learning his mate’s native language.

 _“I find it amusing,”_ T'Lara declared, looking up at him, and for the first time he saw her smile faintly. In fact it was the first time he’d seen _any_ Vulcan smile, but even if it had existed for a mere fraction of a second, it had been there. The sheer magnitude of seeing any emotion other than pain and grief on her face threatened to shatter his brittle composure again.

Soval came to the rescue as Trip tried hard to compose himself.

 _“Your_ En'ahr'at's _pronunciation is indeed unique child,”_ the Ambassador said. _“I hope you will strive to learn his language as well.”_

The fight against the tears became only harder when the young Vulcan wordlessly slung her little arms around him to hug him close after hearing of his appointment as her adoptive parent. Helplessly he looked at T'Pol for support, but he could see that she was fighting for composure herself.

Soval, the only one in the room with anything resembling control over his emotions, looked away.  Trip surmised that that was the Vulcan way of giving others some privacy when their control over their emotions was threatened.

=/\=

“How did you do it, Malcolm?” Jon asked, trying to hide his repugnance as he stared at his tactical officer. “I’m willing to accept what the Admiral and your former superior officer told me, but I have a problem believing that you convinced six people to hang themselves, just like that.”

“May I?” the younger man asked, indicating the view screen, which he’d calmly reconnected to the power source before inserting a data chip.

Jon almost immediately had to swallow nausea when a recording started to play. It showed a Vulcan slaying another in the bloodiest way imaginable. Green blood was everywhere after the attacker had cut open the other man’s throat. The most horrifying thing, though, was that the attacker looked on as his victim died in a long slow agony. He’d seen that look before – just over twelve hours ago – on T’Pol’s face.

Malcolm watched silently, his face impassive.  When the film was over, he withdrew the data chip and pocketed it before turning to the captain.  “That, sir, is what you would not have succeeded in preventing Commander T’Pol from doing. It is the execution of a rapist by one of the victim’s clansmen. I recorded that over three years ago when I was undercover on an outpost called Vulcana Regar. I still have the ears that were part of my disguise, in fact.”

Jon looked at the extended palm of the lieutenant’s hand. Two little pieces of prosthetic ear-tips were presented to him on it.

“And showing them the recording was enough to convince them,” he half-stated, half-asked.

“They got to see the director’s cut,” his tactical officer replied drily, his voice betraying no hint of either revulsion or remorse. “I promised to explain what I am allowed to explain, sir. One of the many things I learned in the Section was to kill people, or help them do it themselves, without losing much sleep over it. But it began to happen a bit too often even for me in the last few months of my service. That was the main reason why I decided to leave.”

“But you still did it one last time,” Jon pointed out the obvious.

“This recording was not exaggerated or staged, sir. Commander Tucker would be busy rebuilding the brig now, that’s after we’d spent the hours it would have taken to clean it of blood had we left the job to Commander T’Pol. Beating her to the punch was the only way to satisfy the thirst for revenge that such a vile crime arouses in every Vulcan. It’s in their nature. No amount of meditation would have got that out of her system.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jon said, shivering as he remembered the look of pure rage on the face of his first officer. He wondered if Trip would ever be able to look at her the same as before.   _He_ certainly wouldn’t.  “But Malcolm – _you’re_ no Vulcan.  What the hell do you get out of this?  How do you square it with _your_ conscience?  Because once upon a time I thought you had one.”

His tactical officer looked back at him, his face wearing a sad little smile.  “But then, you never saw all of me, Captain.  You only saw what I wanted you to see. ”

“And we are supposed to go on just like that?”

“If it is any consolation, sir, and I would hazard a guess it is probably not, as unbelievable as it sounds, what I did was legal, if perhaps not perfectly in the spirit of human laws. “

“I can’t wait to hear _that_ excuse, Lieutenant.” His voice was thick with irony. Knowing now some of the man’s history, it was not too much of a stretch of imagination, that he would also be an expert in cooking up a tall tale.

“When you review the day’s reports, you will find one authorized by Ambassador Soval. It confirms that Lady T’Para, the matriarch of the child’s extended clan has officially adopted me into her clan as a show of gratitude for my role in freeing the child. And, sir, this was done when the men were still alive.”

“And that gave you the right to drive them into hanging themselves?”

“That gave me the right to outright kill them myself, sir. The Eldest mother was less than pleased to invoke this particularly distasteful part of Vulcan customs, but seeing that she had little room for maneuvering, she preferred that I do it instead of burdening Commander T’Pol with the bloody deed.”

“Yet you didn’t simply shoot them,” Jon noted.

“Old habits die hard, captain,” he answered and to John it felt as if the man was talking about the weather. “Why risk blood on my hands if I can convince them to do the dirty work themselves? Admittedly a rather ironic sentiment.”

“I appreciate your candidness, Lieutenant, but I want your word that any further contact with that former officer of yours or the Admiral for that matter is brought to my attention without delay!”

“That goes without saying,” the tactical officer replied. “I did not offer you to disclose my past lightly. I was quite aware that this would further damage my reputation, but I cannot deny what had once been part of my life, no matter how distasteful I find it today.”

“You are dismissed, Lieutenant,” Jon acknowledged with a nod. “Return to your post. By the end of the week I expect a detailed report with all details about your former posting that you are authorized to disclose.”

“Aye, Captain”

With that the tactical officer did an about-face and walked out briskly.

Jon sighed when the door had closed. Now he had already two officers at hand, his perception of which had changed radically in the last twenty-four hours.


	18. Life as a parent

It didn’t happen too often, but Hoshi was lost for words. She wondered if it had been that clever a decision to offer counseling to the ship’s chief engineer. Not that she didn’t think she was up to the task – people had always said she was a good listener. But there was little doubt that the last few days had been everything but easy for the man, and she wasn’t quite sure that she could keep up the necessary emotional detachment.

Seeing the normally so cheery commander close to tears was not an experience she particularly cared for, but she willed herself to remain strong despite the fact that her heart ached at seeing him this distressed. There was some big issue hidden there, and she was convinced she knew what it was – the aftermath of a massive bout of denial and misplaced guilt-by-proxy.

“You saw them when they were brought on board, didn’t you?” she asked, and immediately knew she had hit the bulls-eye when he buried his face in his palms. His body was rocked by heavy sobs that threatened to make her cry as well.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This would hurt him, but he needed to work through it.

“Trip, I’m the comms officer. I know the captain was talking to Admiral Forest, T’Pol was on the away team – _you_ were at the airlock.”

“For fuck’s sake, yes I was!” he cried out amid sobs.

“Those dresses they had been put into, if you can call them that… They were practically naked. It’s not too hard to tell if a woman is grown up or not when she’s not wearing much. You knew immediately that she’s still a child.”

A tear ran down her face; Trip was practically inconsolable by now. She hated twisting the proverbial knife, but somehow she had to force him to get past this stupid self-flagellation.

“You had it worked out right away,” she stated the obvious. “You knew why she was put in that dress and now you blame yourself, because the first thing she encountered aboard was another human male seeing her like that.”

He only nodded wordlessly, still crying.

“What did you do?”

“Blanket,” Trip said, visibly trying to compose himself. “Threw it over her. T’Pol asked me to bring one for both of them.”

Counseling be hanged. This wasn’t what he needed right now. Instead, Hoshi gathered him in her arms, gripping hard as he tried to resist.

“Trip you did nothing wrong. It doesn’t need Dr. Freud to see that T’Lara thinks the world of you. Why are you torturing yourself?”

There was no immediate answer as he continued crying, although thankfully not as hard as before. She felt the moisture of his tears on the shoulder of her uniform. He would probably have succeeded in composing himself had he not been influenced by being hugged, but she thought it was better if he had a good weep right now. She knew him well enough to suspect that he had most likely suppressed the urge often enough by now.

“Have you any _idea_ how weird it is with the little thing clingin’ to me every night?” he asked weakly. “How goddamn _wrong_ it feels?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m male and human!” he spat, and removed himself from her embrace. “It was human men who did that to her!”

She shook her head slightly. “Trip, you are the human male who got that diabolical device out of her neck. You are  _not_ the same as those people who abused her. She doesn’t even acknowledge them as humans. She calls them ‘ _Sehlats_ without fur.’”

He looked blankly at her. Obviously T’Pol hadn’t gotten around to explaining Vulcan wildlife to him yet.

“Sehlats are predatory animals on Vulcan. A bit like their equivalent of the big bad wolf. You aren’t the only one who’s been reading good night stories to her. For her they were animals, not humans.”

“You’ve visited her, too?”

“’Course I did,” Hoshi said. “Ambassador Soval dropped by and asked me to take care of her schooling.”

For the first time something resembling a smile returned to his face, although on his tear-stained features it looked more like a grimace. She stood up and went to the bathroom to fetch a wet cloth.

“I’ll take care of teaching her Maths and English. T’Pol will do the scientific subjects,” she explained as she started to dab at his face to make him a little more presentable. “And you’ll have to plan a few take-your-daughter-to-work days. Your adopted daughter is quite interested in things that can be taken apart and re-assembled, as my poor UT prototype will gladly confirm.”

“Had a few parts left when done…” he said with another half-smile.

“Many,” Hoshi confirmed with a chuckle as she sat back to examine her work. He looked almost normal again if one ignored the reddened eyes.Still, even that might too easily be noticed, and provide gossip – something best avoided.

“I’m not letting you go back like that. Come on, we grab something to eat in the mess hall until your eyes look half-way normal again.”

=/\=

The wisdom of creating footwear in a fashion that made it look like the heads of Earth lagomorphs eluded her understanding, even more so since she doubted that  _Oryctolagus cuniculus_ existed in a brightly pink colored variant. 

The gift from Lieutenant Hess and her mate, ensign McIllway, was obviously much appreciated by T’Lara though, who had insisted on wearing the creation that Trip’s second in command had called ‘fluffy bunny shoes’.

Her working theory was that the synthetic fur helped to keep the child’s feet warm in the quarters’ air whose temperature was not entirely ideal, thus explaining the instant attachment the child had developed to the gift.

Although Trip had manipulated the environmental controls to provide higher temperatures than the default setting for human quarters allowed, raising it to full Vulcan comfort level would cause Trip to perspire heavily and constantly – with all the olfactory inconveniences this would cause.

The Vulcan-Human temperature conflict was not helped by the fact that Trip refused categorically to take off his shirt or any other piece of clothing in the child’s presence, even if this was needed to offset higher temperatures. He was afraid that it would cause painful memories of her ordeal. Whenever he had to change clothing, he did so in the bathroom only, and he also refused to be present when T’Lara changed into her night clothing; any such activity would be solely her responsibility and also happen in the bathroom.

The subject of her thoughts returned to their quarters just then, pushing a cart with various dishes for the evening meal. Although they had planned to start eating in the mess hall at some point soon, they had decided it was too early yet to introduce T’Lara to so many unknown humans. Especially the effect of so many males on the young one’s composure was worrying them.

T’Lara walked up to the arriving Engineer and held out her arms in a wordless request to be embraced. Of course the most conspicuous addition to her attire did not escape his attention.  T his would hardly have been possible anyway, since they were proudly displayed for his admiration.

“I’d guess those were not exactly your idea?” he asked T'Pol with a smile while he held the child gently in his arms.

“No, her… shoes are a gift from Lieutenant Hess and her mate. We have, in fact, been presented with several offerings from the crew – mainly concentrating on clothing that seems to have comfort as its main purpose. Others have donated educational material, including heavily illustrated books about herbal and animal life on Earth.”

“ _I shall show you_ ,” the young one offered and grabbed his hand, but T’Pol was having none of that. 

“ _You shall first eat,”_ she decreed. She sent Trip a questioning look, seeing that the cart contained only food she would have selected herself, and none that catered for his taste in nourishment. 

“I already had dinner with Hoshi, she insisted,” he said apologetically, but such gesture was unnecessary. It did not take much of her telepathic ability to sense that a sizable portion of his more negative emotions had been purged, courtesy of the young linguist’s counseling. She made a mental note to express her gratitude to Ensign Sato.

His presence at the table was still required though. T’Lara was fairly tall for a child of her age, so she could have easily reached the food on the surface, but she insisted on sitting in his lap. It would not be an easy task to wean her off this habit.

Although it was quite common for children below the age of twenty-five to require occasional physical contact with their parents, T’Lara’s need for comfort was far exceeding the norm, even more so since they were not her immediate biological progenitors. By the age of sixteen Vulcan children were expected to be well accustomed to sleeping in their own rooms instead of the bed of either parent – and T’Lara was approaching eighteen years of age. Certainly by Human standards, her sharing sleeping quarters with an adult male was highly irregular, if not reprehensible  as her outward appearance was – by human standards – that of a child approaching puberty . If that  'arrangement'  became public knowledge it would be regarded as nothing short of scandalous. Regardless of the fact that Trip  considered her a child and treated her as one,  as was true by Vulcan development standards, few  outsiders  would believe that he was guiltless of some kind of misdemeanor.

Of course the unique circumstances of her ordeal required the granting of certain liberties in that regard, but the fact remained that the child was one of the few remaining direct descendants of Surak. A ‘humanization’ of her would be a grave misinterpretation of their responsibilities. It would not be easy to comply with the necessity to give the child a proper upbringing without giving the wrong impression to Trip that he was an unfavorable influence.

=/\=

Trip tore into his steak feeling refreshed. For the first time since they had taken her in, T’Lara had slept through the entire night. Granted, she had still been clinging to him like a baby monkey, but at least she had made it through the night without any nightmares that would make her wake up screaming.

T’Pol had made an effort to avoid stating the obvious, but he knew very well that part of this success was that he was much more composed himself after talking to Hoshi. As a Vulcan, the child was touch-telepathic and had probably picked up on the fact that his state of mind was less tumultuous than it had been previously.

He wouldn’t have needed to look up to recognize the familiar footsteps of T’Pol approaching his table if it wasn’t for the fact that he could hear that she wasn’t alone. Looking up, he saw that the object of his love was accompanied by Pat McIllway, Anna’s introverted better half.  _That_ had to be a first. He’d never seen Pat in the company of anyone but Anna, and even that had only become obvious after his XO had told him about their relationship. 

“May I?” the young woman asked and Trip indicated the seat across from him with a smile. He knew that although this was T’Pol’s customary place, in the presence of any outside party she would select the seat next to it. It was just her habit of not giving the appearance of too much familiarity with him to someone else.

“Thanks for the bunny shoes,” he said. “T’Lara loves them to bits. If we hadn’t said anything, she wouldn’t even have taken them off for the night.”

“You’re welcome,” Pat said, shyly looking down on her plate. “How is she? It must have been horrible…”

Trip gulped slightly, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“It certainly was,” he said. “But I hope she’s healing. Slept through the whole night for the first time last night.”

To his surprise the young woman took his hand and squeezed it gently. “You are a very good man, Commander.”

With that she released it again, and Trip knew that the sentiment did not only refer to his taking care of the child. After all, this was the ‘better half’ of the woman with whom he’d had a ferocious sexual encounter just half a week ago. It was ridiculous, how trivial all the  _brouhaha_ about that day felt right now. 

‘Feeling a bit weird’ seemed to have become a theme lately. Spending all night cradling a step-daughter he hadn’t known about three days ago – and now he was talking to someone who knew that he’d had sex with her partner not too long ago. Who needed a rollercoaster if life was such a tumultuous ride?

He soon realized, though, that talking to Anna’s ‘significant other’ was not only possible, but also quite pleasant. She spoke in soft tones, and it was not difficult to make out that she was also very intelligent. The best proof for that was that T’Pol evidently felt inclined to join the smalltalk over dinner. She did that only with people she felt very comfortable with, and a good intellect was a pre-requisite to getting on the Vulcan’s good side.

If he were to give his verdict, he’d say that T’Pol and the shy botanist hit off quite well. That wasn’t much of a bold guess, though, as the fact that T’Pol had invited her to their table was more than just a vague hint. It was good to see that she’d started making friends among the crew.

=/\=

“En’ga’neering,” T’Lara said in a strangely accented attempt at Human standard.

“ _Correct,”_ the commanding officer of said department replied in her native language. 

It had been quite a task to convince the young Vulcan that her beloved ‘bunny shoes’ were not suitable attire for visiting her  _en’ahr’at_ ’s work place, but in the end she had accepted that she had to don more substantial footwear. 

A week had now passed since he and T’Pol had become step-parents of a Vulcan orphan. It was a cruelly ironic twist of fate that while having the responsibility of a pair of mates, they couldn’t live like one, because of that damn betrothal of hers.

The only thing remotely resembling ‘married’ life was the fact that his quarters now featured a queen-sized bed to hold all three of them. T’Lara had started to become a little less clingy, but usually they still woke up in the morning with the child snuggled up very closely to him or T’Pol.

That she’d begun to accept T’Pol as an equally suitable source of comfort was the best news in all of this. The ship’s science officer had never expressed as much in words, but the status of T’Lara as one of the few survivors of Surak’s bloodline would cause problems down the line if she became too closely entangled with humans.

T’Pol had truly surprised him when he’d witnessed with how much gentleness and care she handled the young one’s need for physical comfort whenever the girl edged closer to her during the night

Since the daily hours in bed were much more than what a grown up Vulcan would need, T’Pol’s sleep was often not very deep and she would easily be roused to wakefulness whenever T’Lara snuggled up to her. In those cases it would not take long for her to gather the small bundle in her arms, and both of them would return to a peaceful slumber in a close embrace.

T’Pol’s rising up to the challenge was a great relief.

“ _Wait here, I return,”_ he said in Vulcan, hoping she would get the point despite the fact that he had forgotten what the word for ‘until’ was. Her nod told him that she had understood. To keep her occupied, he called up an education program on his screen that she’d seen before and was quite fascinated with. 

Well, what basically was an educational film about cutesy animal babies would mesmerize most humans as well, but T’Pol had produced an audio overlay that helped her linguistic education in the process by explaining the animals on show in a mix of Vulcan and English, so it wasn’t just a thing to keep her occupied  per se .

Seeing that T’Lara was glued to the screen, he walked out of his office to meet with Anna for a status upgrade. It was really time to get back to work.

=/\=

“Anna, I thought we talked about this,” he said with a hint of sadness when his second in command had grabbed him to place a kiss on his cheek and her zipper was half-way down as well.

She just laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “That one was from me, for what you’ve done for Pat. And as for my zipper – have you already forgotten how hot it is in Jeffrey’s tube five? I can’t just take my shirt off like you, Einstein.”

“Since when has that been a hindrance for you, Anna?” he asked with a chuckle, relieved that she hadn’t suddenly started to expect any ‘private attention’ from him.

“Ha-ha,” she responded in a mock-sarcastic tone, pointing at her breasts. “First of all, the guys around here would drown us all in drool if I did that, and secondly, these bloody things are a right pain if allowed to bounce freely. Pictures are one thing – I’m not going to give live performances.”

“Anyway,” he said. “What’s the status around here? Cap’n wants to depart tomorrow.”

“You didn’t read my reports, did you?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

“If you mean that tower of Babel you built out of PADDs in my office, no I didn’t. Gimme the short version.”

“All repaired,” Anna replied with a broad grin of justifiable pride.

“You’re the best.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder. “That’s great, Anna, really it is.”

“How’s the short stuff?”

“Oh, she’s lovin’ the bunny shoes. It took me half an hour to talk her out of wearing them here,” he said with another chuckle.

“I’m asking about the big issue,” she answered, with a serious expression. That brought his fake cheeriness back down again. Dammit, there was no fooling Anna.

“She’s gettin’ better. She’s sleepin’ through the nights now and she’s started acceptin’ T’Pol. I’m no longer the only dedicated pillow.”

“Sad about it?” She cocked an enquiring eyebrow.

“Not really,” Trip said, shaking his head. “Never felt very comfortable with her clingin’ to me all night. She needs to grow up as a Vulcan, not as a pet of humans.”

“Do you even _listen_ to yourself?” He could see she was slightly upset by his words. “Trip Tucker, I’m only going to tell this to you once. You are a _wonderful_ stepfather to that girl, according to anyone I ask. Will you please come off this self-deprecating streak you have?” 

He sat down with a sigh on one of the toolboxes. “I’m just fuckin’ confused Anna.”

“What about?” she asked. Now _there_ was a rhetorical question if he ever heard one. 

“Everything! Y’see, the woman I love arranges for me to have sex with you, and in return your own better half thinks I’m the greatest guy around, and a day later it’s all fuckin’ meaningless anyway as I find out we rescued a little girl who’d gone through more than most of us would ever survive, and suddenly Soval drops by and makes me a parent, BOOM, just like that. And you know what? I love the little’un as if she were my own, even though I’ve only known her for less than two weeks. I’m feelin’ like I’m on a bloody rollercoaster with no idea how to get off the damn thing.”

Anna chuckled softly, and he looked at her in confusion. He didn’t really have an idea where the funny part in all this was.

“You should be a diver,” she said, still visibly amused. “I’ve never heard someone pump out such a long rant without running out of air. Have you thought about just living normally again?

“I’m not trying to sound disrespectful, but you can’t undo what happened to the girl. No matter how much you falsely try taking the blame on yourself, it won’t make a difference. You aren’t Jesus Christ who died for all our sins. You just said yourself that she is healing. Accept that, and return to your own life.”

He snorted sarcastically. As if she didn’t know that the last bit of his ‘old life’ was banging her and the awkward aftermath of it. In fact, the very last thought had been about T’Pol’s bat-shit-crazy idea of him becoming the photographer for Anna’s monthly ‘naked busty engineer’ gig. After that he’d fallen asleep and then… well all hell had broken loose.

“The last decision for me in my ‘old life’ was which photo equipment to use for your next series of pictures, because T’Pol has gotten it into her head that I should be your photographer. That was four hours before I was woken up by an emergency call from Phlox,” he told her, his voice dripping with grim sarcasm. In contrast to his thoughts, this version was actually printable.

He knew he’d done a bad job of controlling his sarcasm, but if Anna wanted to poach in Hoshi’s area of expertise and play counselor, he might just as well call a spade a bloody spade.

“And what’s wrong with that?” his XO asked, and to his surprise there was no teasing in her voice. She was serious. “It may not be very lady-like, but I’m gonna tell you like it is. You fucked my brains out and for the first time in a long while I didn’t feel like a convenient sperm receptacle, because you actually cared about my pleasure as well.

“Even if it wasn’t exactly planned, you also established first contact between T’Pol and Pat. They’re becoming fast friends. Pat never had friends because she’s too shy. On top of that you’re a great stepdad for a young child. You’ve done nothing but good. So stop blasting yourself, for Chrissake. I understand that the last two weeks shocked you, but that doesn’t make your thoughts before you learned what you know now wrong all of a sudden. Get back to that point and continue.”

“So in your logic I should get back to thinkin’ about what camera to use to take pictures of you?” he snorted, mocking her plea of his ‘greatness’. “Don’t quit your day job, Anna. I don’t think you’re much of a counselor.”

“Yes, I do think you should,” Anna said flatly. “Not necessarily the camera thing. The guys aboard won’t die if they miss out on a new series of Anna’s boobs for a month or two. But you need to get back to _life_. You haven’t talked to Malcolm for two weeks flat, Mattes and Kriegel say you haven’t ordered a single bottle of beer. You are abandoning who you are. The only thing you are going to achieve is becoming someone else than the man T’Pol fell in love with. You need to become Trip Tucker again.” 

He didn’t know what to answer to that. He merely nodded, and Anna plainly saw that she’d said enough for the time being, because she finished pulling down the top half of her uniform,  tying the empty arms of her flightsuit around her waist.  With the guys they would meet on the way being denied a great view by no more than her  gray top she  led the way to the Jeffries tube they were scheduled to work in today.

Clearly, he had a great deal to think about.


	19. Sledgehammer In A Velvet Glove

It was good to have had something that almost resembled a normal day. The ship was under way to visit the monastery of T'Pol's clan at a place called P'Jem, where priests would try to help T'Lara cope with the memories of her ordeal. As far as he could tell from Soval's vague descriptions, it involved some 'Vulcan magic' that he wouldn't get to see. T'Pol would go down to the planet with her.

Now that they were in space again, he could finally return to being Trip the chief engineer again, and at every corner he had been reminded that Anna's pep talk had more than just a little truth to it. If he’d earned one credit for every time he’d been told that people had missed him at various recreational events, he’d be filthy rich by now.

When he entered his quarters, he found T'Pol, but not T'Lara. His senses were on full alert on an instant, but the calm demeanor of the Vulcan kept him from punching the alarm button right away.

“Where's the short one?”

“T'Lara will spend the evening with Patricia in the botanic laboratory and the hydroponics area. She has apparently developed an interest in horticulture.”  She frowned at him.  “I find it rather illogical of you to call her 'the short one'. Even though she is only seventeen years old, she will reach my height within the next two years at the latest.”

Now there was some information to work through. First of all, T'Pol had referred to her new acquaintance by first name, so Anna had not exaggerated by much when she had told him that they were becoming _fast_ friends. And secondly, as much as she had tried to conceal the fact, it was hard to miss that T'Pol didn't much care for the implication of her being short, too.

To anyone who didn't know about Vulcan life-spans, T'Lara looked to be twelve or thirteen in human terms, if perhaps a bit on the tall side for the age. And while she was actually almost eighteen, a comparably-developed human would be about eight or nine years old. The fact that she was less than a head's height smaller than T'Pol had been a major source of his discomfort during those days when he still had to hold her all night. These days, thankfully, she preferred T'Pol for comfort during the night.

“It's just a figure of speech,” Trip said with a conciliatory smile. “My sister Lizzie is still called 'short stuff' and she's the tallest member of the whole family.”

“Most peculiar,” was her reply to his explanation, but she clearly dismissed it as just another Human peculiarity, and he more-than-gladly accepted the gentle hug she offered. Such moments had unfortunately become somewhat rare since the arrival of T'Lara.

“Sit,” she asked, indicating the bed, and after he had done so, a bottle of beer was placed in his hand.

He looked at her. Such a preparation was always indicative of T'Pol's wish to talk about something, and having seen her at lunch with Anna and Pat at the table, there were probably no prizes for guessing what it was about.

Sure enough, she placed a chair opposite him and sat on it, her expression comically resolute as she opened negotiations. “I have overheard several members of the crew expressing their dismay at the fact that you seem to neglect your social contacts.”

“Now why could that have happened, T’Pol?” he asked back, mentally berating himself for having let a bit too much sarcasm seep into his voice. To buy himself some time he took a swig from the bottle. But the second part of his reply was no less sarcastic, if perhaps not expressed with the emotion on such strong display. “It’s not like we’ve been made the step-parents of a child that has been through a lot and needs us.”

T’Pol was fixing him with a look that left him guessing what was going on in her mind. He had expected a rebuke for his sarcasm, but none came.

“Trip,” she started, leaving a pause after his name. “T’Lara has been to engineering with you several times. She has noticed the strong bonds among your people despite the fact that they are not related. She has even learned the English word for it – friends. She is starting to wonder why her father does not have friends.”

He put the bottle down and sighed. Whatever he tried it was always not good enough.

“T’Pol, what am I supposed to do? It’s literally impossible to do things right in this situation. Do you really think I could prefer a beer with Malcolm over bein’ around when the short one needs us? I’m already countin’ my blessings that she no longer holds on to me during the night, but in the wakin’ hours she still needs lots of reassurance. Do you really think I’d put anything before that?”

“You need to,” T’Pol answered evenly. “You cannot keep secrets from T’Lara. Her telepathic abilities are as strong as could be expected from a descendant of Surak. Your determination to provide the best possible care is commendable, but if you neglect yourself over it, she will notice. Do you wish her to place the blame for that transformation on herself?”

He felt an irrational anger boil up in himself. Why did it always come down to Vulcans thinking they knew better what he needed than himself? And now he had two of them in his quarters every day. He couldn’t hold back as his anger broke through his meager defenses.

“Fuck it, T’Pol,” he growled, jumping up, and he started pacing the room, gesticulating to emphasize his anger. “I feel like a damn lab rat! Everybody thinks he or she knows better than me what my needs are! There you go and say ‘You are tense – have sex with that woman, she’s tense, too.’ And idiot that I am – I did. That it felt wrong in every way imaginable doesn’t matter, does it?”

She didn’t answer. It wasn’t as if she had much chance to, as his rant continued.

“Suddenly I’m a dad. And I try my best at it. Everyone says I’m doing a fine job on that, but of course that’s not good enough either, because now I neglect myself! What do you want me to do? Go to Malcolm’s, get wasted outta my skull and then drop by Anna’s to take a few naked pics of her while I’m at it? Is that what I’m supposed to do? I’d feel like a fuckin’ shit again, because it would inevitably end up with her having to ‘help me’, but if it makes you happy, I can fuck off _right now_!”

He came to stand in front of her, breathing heavily from his outburst, his face now probably beet-red from anger. At least that was what his burning cheeks felt like. To his surprise T’Pol looked at him with a raised eyebrow and he damn well knew it was her way of having a good ol’ giggle at his performance. It didn’t do much for his mood.

“I had been afraid I would need to resort to domestic violence to make you express your anger.”

Her dry delivery knocked the wind out of his sails. Looking at her, dumbfounded, he took the bottle of beer from her and for want of a better idea he emptied it all in one go. It resulted in a strong urge to belch, but he was able to release the swallowed gas silently through his nose with an effort, instead of ending up belling like a stag in rut.

“Okay, Dr. Freud,” he said and took a seat at the desk, looking at T’Pol. “Since you, Anna, the lil’ one and probably Porthos as well know better than me – what is my problem?”

“The problem, Trip, is your misplaced anger. Did you notice that you are the only one who keeps mentioning your sexual encounter with Lieutenant Hess? The Lieutenant obviously was most satisfied with it. I no longer think about it as together with Patricia we came to accept the arrangement as a necessary measure and much preferable to arrangements with less suitable partners for either you or Anna.

“The only one coming back to it again and again is _you_. And the reason for that is, you are upset by the fact that you actually found the encounter quite satisfying yourself. And you suppress that anger. Now that this anger is added to by your rage about the fate of T’Lara, it starts poisoning your _katra_. You must let go of it.”

“What do we do about that?” he asked, still a bit numb about her blunt analysis of his thoughts (and the most annoying thing about this was, that it was – of course – spot on).

“Ceasing to deceive yourself and me about your thoughts might be a start,” T’Pol noted dryly. “You have spoken to me about the encounter as if it was a mechanical act. Your thoughts about being a parent to T’Lara, especially the unique challenges that came with it, are left to speculation. You try to mimic a Vulcan, and that is not only dangerous, you also fail abysmally in that endeavor.”

Trip closed his eyes. He had never expected T’Pol to be this brutal in calling bullshit on his facade. This would perhaps be a good time for another beer, and as if she had read his thoughts he opened his eyes and saw T’Pol handing him one. Hell, for all he knew, she probably _had_ read his thoughts.

“What do you wanna know?” he asked flatly. If she wanted to have his inner thoughts, at least those she couldn’t work out by herself, she should get them – with all the consequences it would bring. In his mind he already saw the new big bed being transferred to her quarters and he would end up in his bunk without not-quite-wife and stepdaughter at the end of the day.

“Everything,” was the calm reply. “Begin with your sexual encounter and we shall go in chronological order from there.”

He sighed.

“Right, if you really need to know... Yes it was great. Best sex I ever had in my life. But it didn’t feel right. All the time I was not doing it with Anna, you know? I was standin’ behind her and all I saw before me was you with long hair. In my imagination I was havin’ my way with _you_. It felt like I was... I don’t know...”

“You felt like you were abusing me,” she ‘helped him out’ calmly. “You knew I could not possibly consent to sexual contact at this time, yet in your imagination you did mate with me. As a result you think you have been disrespectful to both Anna Hess and me.”

“Of course I was!”

“No you have not,” T’Pol insisted and Trip looked at her blankly. His beer intake had increased quickly, and he hid his surprise when she just handed him yet another bottle. Well, if anything she didn’t seem concerned about him becoming drunk, and at this rate it would definitely happen.

“Anna Hess had no illusions, nor any expectations of the encounter being anything more than a quest for intimate relief with a partner she can trust. Neither am I concerned by your... imagination it was me. In fact, the most positive review of your … ‘performance’ by your partner makes it a fairly desirable prospect to one day being able to mate with you.”

 _Now that was a wasted beer,_ he thought, as the latest swig of the refreshment left his body through his nose, leaving him coughing. T’Pol being blunt about things was normal, but _this_ blunt...  “You discussed my ‘performance’?”

“Obviously; and Lieutenant Hess was much more forthcoming with information. And in case you are wondering – Vulcan muscle control is superior to that of humans.”

Thankfully he had delayed the next swig, not trusting her reply, otherwise that would have gone the same way as the last one. He held out the half-empty bottle.  “T’Pol, this stuff is supposed to be drunk, not spewed across the room through my nostrils. Jesus, you discussin’ every bit of it with Anna makes it even more weird.”

She just looked at him, not offering him a reply.

“Okay, so it looks you’re more comfortable with it than me,” he said. “But I’m still not seein’ where you’re goin’ with this and how you expect me to react.”

“Leaving this topic behind, your misplaced impression of having ‘abused’ me mentally influenced your reaction when you were confronted with the real abuse that T’Lara had suffered. It made you almost irrational with misplaced guilt.”

He didn’t have an answer to that, so he fled into emptying the next bottle. Needless to say the next one was already waiting. Yep, she really was not concerned about him being buzzed, and a nagging feeling sprang up in his mind: She wanted to loosen him up so he would reveal his inner thoughts. Well, if she was that concerned with his thoughts – so be it...

“You imagined it was me resting in your arms when T’Lara sought your embrace in her sleep, did you not,” she stated bluntly, and Trip could feel a bout of nausea hitting him. Of all the things he didn’t want her to know...

“I did,” he admitted, his voice hoarse with shame. If the bloody world was about to come crashing down on him he might just as well go out with a bang.

“This time, however, the feeling of intimate thoughts projected at T’Lara simply fueled your guilt at being a human male.”

“I have _no intimate thoughts_ about our daughter,” he cried out. That, at least, he wasn’t guilty of.  How in the name of all that’s holy could she accuse him of that! Had she forgotten what the little one had gone through?

=/\=

T’Pol watched the scene before her and only now she began to understand what Ensign Sato had been referring to when she had explained that getting through his defenses would be a less than pleasing experience.

In the aftermath of her nefarious implication, the more than slightly intoxicated chief engineer was close to crying. Thankfully Ensign Sato had already broken down that part of his defenses and with an effort he managed to avoid that open display of emotions. She knew she had crossed a line, but this reaction showed that the topic of T’Lara’s exceeding need for physical comfort had impacted him.

“I know that you do not have intimate thoughts about her,” she explained calmly, deliberate softening her voice. “She is a touch telepath. Her reaction if she had picked up any such thought would have been unmistakable due to her past. But it is a misplaced accusation you have subconsciously leveled at yourself. Do you not see that the only prosecutor of your behavior is yourself? And that you have been wrong every time?”

He didn’t react, he just looked down at the floor. She knew she had pushed him hard, but neither Anna Hess nor Ensign Sato would have consented to confronting him in this manner. Seeing that she had exhausted the less painful options, it had left her no choice other than to try this last painful one.

“The issue was not T’Lara,” T’Pol continued. “You have been working on this ship for over a year. You have fallen asleep in solitude for a year. And you love me. It was only to be expected that your mind would create an image of me with you, especially as we shared your bunk the night before we rescued T’Lara. In fact, you did not have intimate thoughts about me either. You were merely savoring the sensation of no longer being alone. As much as T’Lara needed your comfort, you needed it just as well. I see no logic in accusing yourself of anything untoward.”

“Does _everybody_ know my mind better than I do?” he asked and she could hear the resignation in his voice. The intoxication in conjunction with his exhaustion was seriously wearing him down.

“No, but nobody is as inept as you at interpreting your thoughts,” she replied deliberately impassive.  It gave her no satisfaction to confront him like this, but if she had learned one thing about her desired mate, it was that he was stubborn.

“I believe that both Anna Hess and Ensign Sato have imparted on you that you have nothing to reproach yourself for. Perhaps you would finally believe it if I said the same. It certainly was my hope before confronting you.”

Again no answer came. Having handed him another beverage in between, she could see that he was by no means sober anymore, but if that was what was needed to wear down his defenses, she was willing to do it, despite all the misgivings she had about the excessive consumption of the potentially harmful substance.

“I think you drove the point home,” he admitted, his speech now slightly slurred. “So what d’you propose we do now?”

“ _You_ do,” she answered. “Preferably you resume being the man that won my affection. The chief engineer who occasionally returns home inebriated because he spent the evening with Lieutenant Reed, the one who is in a more than agreeable spirit because his engineering basketball team has won against the armory.”

“Gawddit, I’ll go out more and by th’ looks-a-things I’m quite good at ‘in - inebriated’. But zere’s one thing I won’ do. I’m not goin’ta take nekkyd pics ‘o Anna.”

“Why?”

“’Cause that’ll jusss make me horny,” he said and had by now taken to not waiting for her to offer him another refreshment. He just took another one from the supply she had procured.

“I believe Anna has explained to you that she is quite well capable of providing relief if necessary.”

“Why the hell is it ya wan’ me t’fuck Anna so much?” he demanded, and a flash of anger and despair washed over her.

“BECAUSE YOU CANNOT DO IT WITH ME!” she cried out in agony, shocked by this sudden flash of emotion.

He just sat on his chair, swaying slightly as he had obvious problems focusing his vision, squinting earnestly at her.  “See, thass why I’m not doin’ it, makesh you mad. I love ya too much. Don’ wanna make ya mad.”

Wordlessly she helped him out of the chair and directed him to the bed. With a loud “oomph” he fell down on it and was fast asleep very soon.

“Forgive me, _Ashayam.”_

After planting a small kiss on the cheek of the unresponsive engineer she turned to leave his quarters. Before she left though, she turned around one last time, looking at the unconscious figure on the bed.

“It will take some time for my hair to grow longer.”


	20. Run-In At P'Jem

He woke up with a groan, and the images of last night were back in an instant. Seeing that the large bed was empty, his heart sank immediately as it appeared that his worst fears had come true – T’Pol and T’Lara were gone. He wondered what Soval would make of the fact that the girl’s step-parents, who weren’t even properly together – because they couldn’t – had broken up.

Ignoring his throbbing head and the feeling of having the morning breath from hell, Trip rolled over towards the edge of the bed to leave it. On his way there, he discovered a PADD by dint of having it stick in his side. With shaky hands he grabbed it. Since when did Vulcans write ‘Dear John’ letters?

 _My_ Ashayam _,_

_I returned later last night to leave you this message as I realized you would think I have abandoned you. Nothing could be further from my mind. I merely decided to rest with the child in my quarters as you are prone to erratic movements in your sleep when you have been intoxicated. I have told T’Lara that you were feeling unwell, so please corroborate this explanation should she ask about the reason for your absence._

_I regret having caused you discomfort, but I saw no other way to force you out of your illogical self-recrimination. Please forgive my outburst as well. I no longer wish to discuss the matter of sexual contact, as you saw yourself it is not a topic I am as unconcerned about as I tried to make it appear._

_I am, however, trusting Lieutenant Hess. I therefore implore you to lead a normal intimate life, as much as it can be considered normal that you are limited to sexual contact with someone other than the one you desire. There are many members of the crew who have no other option than to suffer deprivation. I would not wish for you to be one of them._

_As much as it causes me pain to be unable to surrender myself to your touch, I find solace in the fact that with Anna Hess there is someone who can care for your needs and will without problems step back when the day comes that I am free to be claimed by you as your mate. And since you have grown fond of my attempts at humorous remarks, let me add this: When that day comes, through Anna Hess’ information, I shall be much more knowledgeable about which skills are required to be a suitable intimate partner for you._

_Let this be the last we speak on the matter. I will make it known if I require further information. Please make yourself presentable and meet me and a very expectant child at my quarters. Without doubt she will be very impatient to see you to make sure that your ‘illness’ is not a serious one._

_Yours, in deep affection, T’Pol._

This must be what it feels like to be a Vulcan, he thought. Not that his ears had grown pointy ends, but at this very moment he was utterly unable to make sense of his emotions. It was a most tumultuous mix of joy, amusement at her quip of taking pointers from Anna, and being moved by her poignant declaration of love, even though in best T’Pol tradition she had of course avoided using the word itself.

He opened the link and saved the communication to his personal storage space. He would surely read that one a couple times more in the future.

=/\=

This being the first time they were taking T’Lara to the mess hall for breakfast, he watched her reactions closely as the room would be full of males; and despite Hoshi’s assurances that she was well able to make the distinction between her tormentors and ‘normal humans’, he was on full alert.

T’Lara herself presented a rather comical picture. After he had glossed over the outward signs of his hangover with a long shower and a very long brushing of teeth, he had collected his two favorite ladies at T’Pol’s quarters. The short one had gone all-out Vulcan and out-logic’ed him in insisting that there were no hazards in a mess hall that would prevent her from wearing her beloved bunny shoes. That was why he found himself with a young Vulcan holding on to his hand, who wore a bright pink woolen sweater – a gift from Hoshi – and ridiculous slippers.

Seeing Anna and Pat wave them over, it took no effort to riddle out that there had been more people involved in planning T’Lara’s first outing to the mess hall. The table was almost breaking down with the large selection of food on it. He couldn’t imagine a species in the universe that wouldn’t find anything of interest in that selection.

He smiled a bit uneasily at Anna and Pat when he and his small family sat down across from them. It was a strange feeling, knowing that T’Pol had become close enough friends with them to literally discuss _everything_. He concentrated on the menu and selected scrambled eggs and bacon for himself. Neither T’Pol nor T’Lara made any move to send him a scolding look for his selection of meat.

He had to hide a smile when he saw the young one shovel a selection of comfort food to her plate. Someone must have introduced her to strawberry jam as she went straight for the sweet coating applicable to her bread roll. Even more hilarious was seeing her eat it with a knife and fork.

It was good to see that she was staying well in ‘Vulcan character’, if it wasn’t for the fact that she had to touch it beforehand to prepare it.

“Someone’s got a sweet tooth,” he remarked casually. He had his doubts that she understood the meaning of his quip, but she smiled at him nonetheless, happily munching on her sweet breakfast.

=/\=

“Trip, get back up here,” Malcolm groaned. “How often have you checked that bloody shuttlepod? If there was as much as a water stain from washing it, you’d have found it by now.”

“Just makin’ sure,” the engineer grumbled, finally climbing up the stairs toward the upper level of the shuttle bay. “It’s not only the first time we deploy the thing, it’s also takin’ my entire family down there.”

“If anything the real danger waits _exactly_ down there. Has the thought occurred to you that her former handler could be waiting for them on the surface?”

“Sonofabitch!”

“Don’t worry,” the Brit said, grabbing the panicking engineer’s shoulder. “T’Pol came to me with the same idea two hours ago. We’ve wired her. All she has to do is innocently touch a button on her uniform and I’ll deploy the cavalry.”

“Can’t you just go down with them?” Trip asked. “You were adopted into the clan weren’t you?”

“Trip, I’m not going to prove that decision wrong by walking into a monastery with a rifle. We’ve taken every precautionary measure we can, but we can’t go down there guns blazing. Relations with the Vulcans are strained enough. We can’t afford to upset the one clan that still trusts us.”

“I don’t like this!”

“Neither do I,” Malcolm agreed, grimacing. “But it’s what we have to work with.”

=/\=

The facts presented did not add up to a logical conclusion. Although the monks and priests at the monastery did not use much technology and had no long-range communication equipment, she knew that her clansman Soval had made them aware of the impending arrival of a human ship. According to the Elder who had greeted them –clansman V’Korat, if her childhood memories were intact – had claimed this to be the time of _Kohlinaar_ , the ritual purging of emotions.

This ritual time was, however, not dictated by a time-line or physiological implications. While it was true that visitors would not be admitted during this time, the decision to start it was a completely arbitrary one and could have easily been delayed until after the announced visit of the human vessel.

Also, if it was the time of purging emotions, why did the Elder appear strangely agitated? For the time being she had not questioned the Elder’s at least somewhat inaccurate facts, merely requesting instead to be presented with the Stone of _J’Kahr_. While the Elder was away to retrieve it, she inspected the shrine of relics in which several ornaments appeared to be perched at an odd angle, and then she saw the reason for this strange situation.

Her hand went to needlessly adjust the collar of her uniform, casually touching the button in the process.

=/\=

 

“Something’s wrong down there.”

The dry statement from the Lieutenant behind the tactical console hung in the air for a split-second and Jon knew he had to react fast, or Trip would do something stupid.

“Trip, Malcolm, assemble a team and go down there,” he ordered, knowing that leaving the engineer out of it would have been an exercise in futility. In no time the two men had disappeared into the turbo lift.

“Whoever it is down there,” the captain said sarcastically to no-one in particular, “I don’t think they know what they’ve gotten themselves into.”

=/\=

If he wasn’t so occupied he would have taken the time to enjoy the surroundings. For a race that tried to have their emotions surgically removed if possible, the Vulcans surely had a penchant for beautiful places, Malcolm thought. His first choice of building would have been a holiday resort on such a lush planet.

However, this was just momentary distraction from the havoc that Trip’s flying was wreaking on his stomach. The engineer had a rather liberal interpretation of what the craft’s flight envelope defined as ‘safe parameters’.

Never since 1939 when the bloody Germans invaded Poland had someone dive-bombed into a place like that. The horrible whine of the inertial dampers left no doubt that the passengers’ internal organs would have been rearranged in the worst possible way by now if it weren’t for the hard working devices.  In view of the presence of junior crewmembers, he bit down on the irritable observation that they were aboard a shuttlepod, not a bloody Stuka.

It was hard to fathom how he did it, given his current flying style, but the chief engineer brought them down to a safe if somewhat sturdy landing and the team of four filed somewhat shakily out of the craft. It was not exactly the size of a cavalry unit, but it was enough for reconnaissance purposes. After all, they had no idea yet what the emergency was.

There had been two wired buttons on the Vulcan’s uniform and T’Pol had activated the one calling for a small but well-armed landing party. The second signal variant was meant for a larger scale emergency.

When they reached the entrance, it looked as if either T’Pol had been somewhat forceful in knocking at the door or someone had simply smashed it in. Carefully Malcolm squeezed himself through the gap in the slightly opened doorway, his drawn phase pistol held ready for action but down beside his thigh.  Trip followed him in.

T’Pol was speaking to an elderly Vulcan in hushed tones and in her customary ramrod-straight posture, her hands clasped behind her back.  There was, however, a signal that the monk would not have been able to see from his angle – her index finger was pointing to the right.

Malcolm tapped Trip’s arm and tilted his eyes to the right, and both of them surreptitiously looked over. A wooden panel with a pattern of holes at the base of it was hiding most of the wall behind it, but through those holes Malcolm could clearly see something or _someone_ bright blue – an Andorian! It had been a while since he’d run into these buggers, and he didn’t care much for the memories of that particular mission to Rigel X.

While Trip was, of course, not yet aware of the existence of bright blue aliens, he seemed to have picked up on the situation. Sharing a short understanding glance, Malcolm launched himself at the wall, assisted by the ship’s chief engineer.

=/\=

T’Pol allowed herself a moment of satisfaction at the way Lieutenant Reed had immediately understood the situation. And she was also quite pleased that Trip had accepted his limitations, leaving the fighting with the uncovered Andorian to the more experienced former operative. However, in a moment of distraction T’Lara had left her place of safety and was now clinging to her adoptive father, seeking solace in her fear.

Although he had taken several blows himself, Lieutenant Reed had eventually managed to beat the intruder unconscious, but before she could make a move to confront the clan elder about this unprecedented situation two more Andorians appeared – their weapons drawn.

“It seems we have reached an impasse,” she heard Mr. Reed note in a very dry voice. The two Andorians had their weapons locked on herself, T’Lara, Trip and Lieutenant Reed, while they themselves were securely the target of the other two members of the landing party.

“You’re wrong, Pinkskin.”

Momentarily distracted by the voice, she realized it came from above. Looking up, she saw four Andorians with drawn weapons, hovering about three meters above them.

“Levitation boots! I hate it when something like that happens.”

Lieutenant Reed’s dejected groan represented her own thoughts quite well.  

He clearly knew when resistance was illogical.  Dropping the phase pistol would have been both dramatic and unprofessional; he reversed the weapon, crouched and put it on the floor before stepping back from it, raising both hands.

=/\=

Malcolm was royally pissed off at himself. Maybe it was just as well that he _had_ left the Section. He didn’t seem to have it in him anymore. Having barely come to an understanding with the captain about his past, this time his experience could have been an asset and he’d bungled it big time.  

And the worst thing was, it should have been so easy. T’Pol should have still been able to release the second signal, invoking a twenty-man assault on the place; he’d seen her touch the second button, but that had been more than ten minutes ago and Taylor was not known for tardiness. Somehow the experimental kit had failed.

“Hey, hey, don’t get your antennae in a twist,” he heard Trip complain as they were led along a dark corridor. One of the Andorians opened a door and the lot of them were shoved into a room full of Vulcan priests and monks. Well, Malcolm reflected wryly, at least the Andorians hadn’t staged a massacre yet. Given their attitude towards Vulcans, that was by no means a given.

“Search them – weapons, communication devices – if they have them I want them,” the Andorian leader – a Commander if he remembered correctly – ordered, and left one guard behind for the task.

Malcolm grew angry when the Andorian went straight to searching T’Pol, if that disgusting groping deserved the name. Since he’d been the one who had come in, armed, and knocked out one of them, any Andorian with a shred of honor would have searched him first, but that wasn’t the point, was it?  Bastard.

He flickered a glance at Trip.  If this was hard for him to watch, he could only guess how much worse it was for the man who loved her.

If the situation wasn’t so grim, he would have admired the ship’s science officer for the iron self-control with which she endured the blatant intrusion into some very private space. Unfortunately, this close interest in the Commander would inevitably lead to the Andorian finding out that she’d been wired.

He swallowed a gasp of fury as the flight suit was ripped violently open, leaving the zip hanging in tatters and exposing the cables on her torso. Only the grey underwear provided some last bit of privacy. Malcolm was torn – should he try to get the Andorian off T’Pol or should he first save Trip from himself? It was a working certainty that the Engineer would completely disregard his own safety to save the Vulcan.

To his utter surprise however, the American stood still, clutching the child to his chest in a way that would prevent her from seeing the scene. But the expression on his face left no doubt what he would do had the responsibility for T’Lara not overruled his instincts. _So saving T’Pol it is_ , Malcolm thought, and advanced on the Andorian who in his perverted glee had forgotten to keep his weapon targeted.

With a swift movement he pried the weapon from the Andorian, giving T’Pol the chance to step back as he reversed it. With a nasty cracking sound the butt of the rifle impacted on the attacker’s face. The Andorian dropped like a stone. The blue guys were sturdy chaps, Malcolm reflected grimly, but their chins made Achilles’ heel look like a piece of body armor.

Alerted by the noise, the other Andorians had come back and the door flew open. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Trip’s utter dismay at the fact that he made no move to use the captured weapon.

“I believe this belongs to you, Commander,” he said calmly, and presented the weapon to the Andorian leader, butt first so that the business end pointed at himself. The confusion on the alien’s face was plain as he slowly took the offered object, still wary of a possible trap.

=/\=

If Shran disliked anything more than Vulcans, it was a situation he could not understand in an instant. This pink-skin was either unspeakably stupid or a warrior who knew exactly which fight to pick and which not. He inspected the weapon and found it secured and unloaded.

“You could have killed me, pink-skin. Why did you fight one of my men, but not me?”

“We have not come to desecrate this place by killing people. Your man is alive, but I believe even on _your_ world it is considered offensive to be disrespectful to a woman,” the pink-skin replied, with as little emotion as he would expect from the green-bloods.

He frowned when he saw the tattered state of the female Vulcan’s attire to which the man’s gesture directed his attention.

Anger boiled up in him that one of his men had done that. The wiring over the grey cloth that had been left intact and was the only thing preserving her modesty, was testament to the fact that a closer look was warranted. However, no warrior with a shred of honor would have willfully destroyed her attire to make it impossible for her to maintain her dignity, especially in such public circumstances and in a place that was regarded with reverence.

“Cover her!” he ordered one of the Vulcan monks, who accepted the instruction with a nod and gratefully wrapped a blanket around the Vulcan’s half-exposed body.

“As you can see, she does indeed wear communication devices and we are willing to surrender them to you, but _we_ will remove them,” the pink-skin continued, his manner neither cowed nor apologetic, but firm.

Shran fixed the alien with a suspicious look. The pink-skin had battered one of his warriors, but the disgusting _T’heriket_ deserved no better for the shame he had brought on the Imperial Guard by his unsavory actions.  And since the unknown creature had presented his weapon in exactly the same way as the warrior’s code required, that same code demanded that he be heard by those to whom he had surrendered.

“Come with me,” he ordered, and his suspicion that the stranger was well acquainted with Andorian customs was proven correct when the pink-skin assumed his expected place – directly in front of his weapon’s nozzle, presenting his open palms behind his back.

Who _were_ these people he knew nothing about, but who knew everything about Andorians?

Before leaving he turned around again, addressing the monks.  “Remove the communications devices from the female. The guard will collect it in exactly two minutes. If any signal is emitted from this room, you will all be executed.”

Ordering his men to wait outside, but stay alert, he left the chamber to interrogate the human who walked before him.


	21. The Warriors Code

Malcolm stumbled slightly as the Andorian shoved him into a room that looked as though the invaders had made it their situation room.

He looked around incredulously.  A whole host of scanners and other equipment were keeping the place under close surveillance by the look of it. What could an attack squad of the Imperial Guard possibly gain by ransacking a monastery?

“Who are you?” the Andorian demanded, keeping his weapon firmly pointed in his direction.

“My name is Malcolm Stuart Reed, Lieutenant of United Earth Starfleet. And before we go on, I wish to request that you let me contact my ship.”

“Why should I do that?” his captor asked, still holding the weapon firmly pointed at his head.

“First: We found no ship in orbit,” Malcolm explained pulling up his fingers to count his points. “Second: The Vulcan ships are the fastest in the sector, so whatever brought you here is more than thirty minutes away even if you’ve matched the Vulcans by now. Third: There’s a ship full of eighty nervous humans in orbit who haven’t heard from us in over two hours. Sooner rather than later they’ll come down here with an assault team, and however gallant your warriors may be, they’ll be no match for twenty humans with pulse-rifles.  Bottom line is, numbers count.”

“And you offer to prevent that?”  the Andorian asked, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I’ve met members of your species before, though I’m not discussing the occasion. The Imperial Guard wouldn’t send a Regimental Commander without good reason – and as unlikely as it may sound, we might even be on the same side.”

“You knew about your right to be heard according to our traditions,” the Andorian  grumbled. “Do you also know about your fate if you abuse that right?”

“ _None_ of us would leave alive,” he replied impassively. What did Papa Smurf take him for – an amateur? Although that was actually debatable, considering he had ended up a captive in the first place.

“Contact your ship!” the Andorian ordered gruffly, without lowering the gun.

Now it would all depend on Captain Archer having some common sense. He flipped open his communicator, presenting it to the suspicious alien before speaking into it.

“Reed to _Enterprise_ , please respond.”

“ _Enterprise_ here.  Malcolm, what’s going on down there?” came the impatient demand of the ship’s captain.

“Captain, at this moment I’m looking at the business end of a pulse-rifle and I need you to listen carefully. At this point in time we are prisoners of the Andorian Imperial Guard. None of us has been harmed, and I think I can use past experience to keep it that way. For the time being I advise: do not send any additional forces to the surface.”

He hoped the captain would pick up the vague reference to his past.

When Archer replied, some of the tension in his voice had lessened.  “I understand you, Lieutenant. Is there any chance I can speak personally to a representative of this Imperial Guard?”

Malcolm offered the open communicator to the Andorian, who precariously tried to keep the weapon on target with one hand.

“ _Enterprise,_ ” the smurf barked into the device.

“To whom am I speaking?” The captain’s voice was steely, yielding nothing.

“This is Commander Shran. Your people are prisoners of the Andorian Imperial Guard. If the lives of your people mean anything to you, I suggest you follow the advice of your Lieutenant Reed!”

“Do I have your word that his words were spoken of his own volition?”

“We are warriors, captain – not pirates. Await further instructions!”

With that the Andorian closed the communicator and pocketed it.  “I want to know more about your previous ‘encounter’ with some of my people.”

Malcolm could almost feel the suspicious glare of the blue alien burn through him.  He cast a glance around; there were too many listening ears for his taste, those of the men manning the surveillance equipment.  “Would you discuss restricted information in front of every Tom, Dick and Harry from Starfleet?”

Apparently Shran wouldn’t.  He drew the prisoner into a corner, pressing the muzzle of the gun into his chest.  “You’re a spy!” the Andorian growled in an accusatory tone. “You know a lot about us, but we know nothing about you!”

“I _was_ ,” Malcolm replied softly, trying to project assurance, and above all refraining from any sudden movements which would perhaps startle the trigger-happy alien. “We preferred to refer to ourselves as operatives. Sounds an awful lot better than ‘pet assassins’, wouldn’t you agree? I had a run-in with one of your people before – his name was Tholos. Considering that your translators are familiar with our language, I’d hazard a guess he even survived the mission at Rigel X.”

Suddenly the Andorian dropped his weapon a little.   “You knew Tholos?”

For the first time Malcolm had the impression that Papa Smurf was driven by something else than anger and aggression – the face of the alien was a grimace of pain.

“I take it you knew him as well?”

“He was my brother,” the alien answered, his antennae drooping forward. “He died two years ago.”

“My condolences,” Malcolm said honestly. “From what I saw of him, he was a good warrior.”

Meanwhile, the Andorian had evidently remembered why they were here, and had raised the weapon again.  “Why are you here, Pink-skin? What interest have you in a place like this?”

“We – as in we humans – have no business here,” the Brit explained calmly. “The two Vulcans on our ship have. The young one – the child – was abused, and needs the help of a priest. I suppose you now understand why I didn’t care much for your man’s handling of our science officer.”

 _Bullseye!_ he thought when the blue alien’s antennae flattened against his skull in disgust. For all the bluster, Papa Smurf seemed to have a strong moral compass.

“Why here?” the soldier demanded. “There are thousands of Vulcan monasteries. Why this one? Have you unloaded any supplies?”

Malcolm pondered the wisdom of disclosing any more information than he already had, but he had come this far, and if he wanted to have any chance of resolving this without a firefight, he had to make it clear to the alien that they were not enemies, and indeed could even, perhaps, be on the same side.

“First of all – no – we did not unload any supplies. Frankly I wouldn’t know what we could offer to a group of monks, who by the look of it do not exactly lead an extravagant lifestyle. But since you’re so interested in that, I take it you think this is more than just a monastery?”

“For years we have tried to find it, and I KNOW it’s here somewhere. There is no other place from which the Vulcans could gather as much intelligence!”

Seeing that the Andorian was becoming agitated, Malcolm saw his chance to make it clear that they were not his enemies.  “With what I am about to tell you, I’ll put a lot of good people in danger, and I trust that I will _not_ be forced to revise my opinion about the honor of an officer of the Imperial Guard…”

Well, that certainly got him a dirty look, but he also had the Andorian’s undivided attention.

Malcolm continued, keeping his voice level and his eyes cool.  “This spiritual retreat is run by a formerly very influential Vulcan clan, one that recently adopted me into it, so you and your men might keep that in mind if you destroy any property around here.”

“Why would a Vulcan clan adopt one of you pink-skins? Those green-bloods can’t even stand each other!”

Malcolm couldn’t help but smirk. Papa Smurf surely had a way of summarizing Vulcans in a single sentence.

“It was, let’s say, a formality. It’s not like they welcomed me out of love. It was necessary to enable me to deal with the girl’s tormentors in an appropriate fashion.”

To emphasize his point he made a cutting motion across his throat. That served well to let the blue chap know that he was no stranger to dealing out harsh treatment. After all, even if they seemed to have come to a kind of understanding, years of service in the Section had taught him that cockiness or optimism were cardinal sins in such a volatile situation.

“Then you know where it is!” the Andorian accused him.

“I know nothing,” Malcolm replied impassively. “In fact, if I knew of any intelligence personnel around here, I would have beaten you to the punch. The clan this monastery belongs to is summarily persecuted by the High Command for political reasons. If they got their hands on either of the two Vulcans we brought here, neither of them would escape punishment.”

Just for added effect, he repeated his throat-cutting movement.

Shran’s antennae flattened back against his skull in disgust.  “That’s why you came here specifically!”

Malcolm answered the statement with a nod.

“Then you will have to leave,” the Andorian demanded angrily. “This time we’re not leaving until we’ve found their surveillance station, and we’ll destroy the monastery if necessary!”

“Or we look for it together,” Malcolm replied dryly. “Not that we have much interest in your people, but surely you understand now that we’re no keener than you are on having the High Command in this place.”

“You propose an alliance?”

“Nothing so grandiose,” the Brit replied; another thing the Section had taught him was knowing your limitations. “Just co-operation. We have the same interests. If the High Command is here somewhere, we both want them gone.”

He could almost hear the gears grinding in the Andorian’s mind.  The commander was a proud warrior, and as such accepting help from someone who was until minutes ago a prized prisoner – a self-confessed spy, of a species they hadn’t met before – was not an easy decision. But the very fact that he was thinking hard about it – manifested by the wagging antennae – was all Malcolm needed to know.

The Andorians were out of ideas. They had hit a point at which they could not continue.  Not without help from _somewhere._

Shran appeared to come to a decision.  He lowered the weapon.  “Come over here, pink-skin!” 

Malcolm followed him across the room and looked at the screen the Andorian indicated. Since he had a habit of visiting the communications lab a few times more often than was strictly necessary, he immediately saw that it was displaying visuals of subspace signals hidden in a lot of white-noise. It was not unlike the display he had seen when Hoshi had found the listening devices aboard the ship.

“Subspace signals,” he analyzed calmly. “I take it you’ve picked them up while you were orbiting this planet?”

“You can read this display?” the Andorian asked, and Malcolm couldn’t suppress a smirk. Papa Smurf was not good at hiding that this was the snag they had hit.

“I can’t, but I know someone who can – our communications officer.”

“How do I know that you won’t deceive me, pink-skin?” the Andorian asked suspiciously.

“You don’t, but perhaps a practical demonstration will help. If you would hand me my communicator?”

The blue chap immediately raised his weapon, but reluctantly handed over the device.

“Reed to _Enterprise_ ,” Malcolm hailed, ignoring the weapon pointed at him. If he had a credit for every time this had happened in his life, he certainly wouldn’t be working anymore; he’d be sunning himself on the terrace of his own bloody mansion, drinking vintage champagne for breakfast.

“Captain, if you wouldn’t mind sending down a TX-20 subspace router and an EVA rated PADD?” he requested after the captain had responded.

“Lieutenant, both shuttlepods are on the planet if you remember.”

A foreseeable reaction, Malcolm thought. The captain was trying to keep the transporter technology secret, but giving away that secret was exactly what he had in mind.

“Captain, I’m aware of the implications and my motives will become obvious in due time. I believe I have come to an understanding with Commander Shran. It is imperative that you send the equipment to the coordinates of my communicator.”

There was a pause.  Understandable; this was classified technology.  “Acknowledged, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir.  Reed out.”

He heard Shran instinctively unlocked the safety catch of his weapon when two objects materialized out of thin air on top of the communication device that he had deposited on the table.

“How have you done that?” the Andorian growled.

“This, Commander, is a technology called matter transport. It allows us to transfer objects through an ionized matter stream. We will need these devices to analyze your subspace scans, but the _real_ reason for my demonstration is to make you aware of the fact that we are able to arm all our people down here in a matter of seconds. Had it been our intention to harm your people, or even just freeing ours, my two men and our two officers in the chamber would by now be in possession of the strongest weapons we have.”

He could see that the Andorian was crumbling like a cheap suit, his antennae drooping forward in defeat, though he tried to put up a defiant front.  “You’re saying I’m the true prisoner.”

“You are nobody’s prisoner, Commander. Now, would you mind if we started our work? I would hazard a guess our science officer is getting a bit cold by now.”

=/\=

Jon watched triumphantly as the last shuttle docked to the Vulcan battle cruiser. Unbelievably, the Vulcans had hidden over a hundred operatives in a cave below the planet’s surface. He wondered how long it would take to wipe the triumphant smile off Hoshi’s face for having managed to locate what the much more advanced Andorians had been searching for unsuccessfully for years.

“We’re being hailed,” Hoshi reported. He nodded, and she established contact.

A sour looking Vulcan appeared on screen – well, as sour as a Vulcan allowed himself to look. By Human standards he would guess the man’s age to be in his late 50s.

“You will regret this outrage,” the Vulcan droned; his face was impassive, but his eyes glinted with suppressed fury. “You have sided with our enemies and compromised a vital government installation. This is not what we expect from an allied race.”

“And we don’t expect our allies to be pathological liars, who desecrate a spiritual retreat by building a spy station below it that violates a diplomatic accord that _your government_ has signed.”

Jon was not in the mood to be bullied by the Vulcan, and more importantly he had to keep the Vulcans occupied to make sure they wouldn’t scan the surface too thoroughly, since that presented the danger of  making  them aware of the presence of Trip and T’Pol’s adoptive daughter. Malcolm had reported that she had been well hidden, but he was not feeling like taking risks. The fact that they were confronted by a _Suurok_ class battle cruiser was risk enough.

“We could easily destroy your ship,” the Vulcan replied with the most monotonously delivered death-threat ever.

“You could,” a second voice joined in and the bright blue face of Malcolm’s unlikely ally joined them on screen as Hoshi hastily split it to accommodate the second transmission. “But you would have to go through the _Kumari_ first. Those pink-skins have conducted themselves more honorably than your entire High Command. They are under the protection of the Andorian Imperial Guard. If any harm comes to them or the monks on the planet, There. Will. Be. Bloodshed!”

The Vulcan disappeared from the screen and they could see that the cruiser full of disgraced spies beat a hasty retreat.

“We all thank you for your assistance, Commander,” Jon addressed the Andorian. 

“Don’t thank me just yet, Pinkskin. Making enemies of the Vulcans is a dangerous business. The day will come soon when I can repay my debt to you. That will be good for my conscience, but I have a feeling you pink… humans are not prepared for the wrath of the Vulcans.”

“I guess we will have to find out,” Jon replied with fake bluster as the gravity of the alien’s words sank in.

“Meanwhile, I’ve left a little present with your Lieutenant Reed – a crate of finest Andorian Ale. I suggest you don’t drink it all at once, it’s rather potent even by our standards. We’ll meet again, Pinkskin.”

Before he could reply, the Andorian’s face disappeared and they saw the alien cruiser go to warp.

“Now that’s a way to make friends,” Jon sighed to nobody in particular and sank back into his chair.

=/\=

Malcolm walked into the captain’s ready room, coming to stand at attention. He could see that the captain looked positively ill, and switching his gaze to the viewscreen he saw the scowling face of Admiral Forest on it.

“What in the name of all that’s holy, Jon?” the Admiral fumed. “Have you any idea what’s going on here? Soval hasn’t even _begun_ to manage putting out all the fires.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Malcolm said in an exaggeratedly formal manner. “Speaking of ‘holy’. They desecrated a monastery in clear violation of a diplomatic accord. What does that tell us about the dependability of Vulcans as an ally?”

“You shouldn’t even open your mouth, Lieutenant!” he heard the Admiral growl, incensed. “You gave away the matter transport technology to a foreign force we know basically nothing about!”

“Sod it!”  Giving way to his anger, Malcolm abandoned his pose to tower over the view screen. “With all due respect, _Sir_ , I’m one of only two people on this ship who know what awaits us out here. Just two weeks ago I was bloody well good enough to be your pet assassin when it suited Starfleet’s interests. Suddenly, my expertise is no longer required! Have you even bothered to contemplate that I might have chosen this tactic for a _reason_?”

He knew very well that he was badly out of line in his address of a superior officer, but getting away from this sort of crap was what he had accepted a demotion for. Instead of handing out the coordinates and schedule for his court-martial, however, the Admiral sat back and demanded his explanation.

“I have not given away our technology, Sir, merely the information about its existence – something that, believe me, will already be common currency among Earth’s enemies.  Andorians are militaristic and aggressive, but also slavishly adhere to their traditions. That means for all the warrior bluster, they are not expansionists, and fighting over something like a piece of technology is anathema to them. While other races would not hesitate to subjugate whole worlds for it, no Andorian worth his salt would even ponder it. They acquire their technology through trade or the repayment of debts.”

“Repaying _debts?_ ” Forest sounded doubtful.

“Yes, Admiral. I helped Commander Shran uncover the spy station. He considers himself in my debt now – not something any Andorian really relishes.”  A grim smile.  “If I went and asked for some of their technological blueprints we’d probably get them. He will not rest easy until that debt has been repaid. And even after that happens, he’ll keep a vested interest in us, because what he will really want is that _we_ will be in _his_ debt, so he can legitimately ask for more info on that particular technology.”

“Which means you have your own personal bodyguard out there,” the Admiral replied, and Malcolm watched realization finally dawn on the man.

“Exactly.”

“Reed, from time to time you should remind me how lucky we are that you are on _our_ side,” the Admiral replied dryly.  “Captain Archer, I’ll talk to you later when some of the dust’s settled.”  And he severed the connection.


	22. Cultural challenges

“Sonofabitch! No wonder the Andorians are blue – one glass of this and you can’t breathe anymore,” the engineer wheezed in a hoarse voice, clutching his chest.

Some things in the universe were universal, and one of them was the reaction to the first drink of Andorian Ale. No matter if human, Klingon or Gorn, the first time ended in a serious face cramp. Malcolm just waited with a half-smile for Trip to stop coughing.

“It packs quite a punch,” he agreed.

“Have to hand it to you,” the American said, once his facial contortions had subsided. “Gettin’ abducted and coming back out of it with a crate of finest booze and an angry smurf as a new friend. That was good. If it‘d been me, I’d have tried to contact Jon so that he could send down a heavily armed landing party.”

“So would I, actually,” Malcolm admitted, taking another sip. “Had T’Pol’s equipment not failed, twenty of my people would have come down, guns blazing. Frankly, I was more surprised by how you handled yourself when that Andorian started to grope T’Pol.”

“T’Pol can fend for herself,” his friend explained, with another gargoyle-face after another sip. “She’d probably not even done anything had the dirt bag pushed the top up. For her, the body‘s just a shell for her soul. The Vulcans call that their ‘ _katra’_. But if the guy’d dared come too close to the really precious bits, she’d have snapped him in half. T’Lara didn’t need to see that. That easily overrode my instinct to sock the dirtbag.”

“By the way,” Malcolm started, and sent his visitor a mischievous half-smile. “As the former ranking officer and the third in command, you should know the ship’s security protocols.”

“What did I do?”

“You forgot that if any publicly-accessible area is locked for more than 20 minutes, an automatic biosensor sweep is performed to make sure nobody has collapsed while being locked in.”

He could barely stop himself from laughing when all color drained from the engineer’s face.  It was so entertaining that he decided to twist the proverbial knife a little more.

“Before you ask: yes, the area in question was the shower in engineering, and the biosigns were yours and Anna Hess’. Although they were practically merged, so I’d hazard a guess some part of you must have been _inside_ her.”

“Oh shit,” he heard Trip groan. “Just what I needed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, letting his friend off the hook. “Once acknowledged by a security officer, the scans are deleted and I was on duty at the time. But you wouldn’t want a junior officer or, worse yet, T’Pol get a whiff of that would you?  Be more careful next time.”

Malcolm knew immediately that he’d said something stupid when he saw the upset look on Trip’s face. He realized too late that he had just indirectly accused his friend of going behind T’Pol’s back.

“I didn’t cheat on T’Pol,” the visibly offended American insisted.

“T’Pol knew about you and Anna Hess?” he asked incredulously.

“Hell, she orchestrated the whole thing.”

Malcolm let out a wolf whistle. It took some believing, but it was easier to believe than that Trip would cheat on the woman he so obviously loved. “You’re saying our smokingly hot science officer arranged a sex date for you with the hottest human woman aboard? Well, second hottest after our comms officer,” he amended quickly, with a grin.  He was relieved to see that this did the trick and mollified the engineer.

“Not only that,” Trip said, trying too hard to sound offhand. “She also tried to convince me to be Anna’s next photographer as her last one was rotated off when we left space dock.”

Now that was an interesting piece of news. “And are you going to do it?”

“You have a mighty interest in that,” he was challenged by his visitor. “You aren’t waitin’ on the next series yourself, by any chance?”

“Not really,” Malcolm said airily. “But quite a lot of blokes apparently are.”

“And you volunteer to fight vigilantly for the peace of their mind,” Trip needled him further.  

“It’s actually official business, sort of,” he answered, and didn’t bother to hide the exasperation which these days was never far from the surface of his mind. “You know I still have that morale officer thing hanging over my head.”

“Don’t remind me,” Trip groaned in dismay. “I haven’t even visited Rao’s course yet, hopin’ she’ll forget about it. But since when is organizin’ naked pics of my XO part of your mission statement?”

“Well, that obviously means you didn’t look at her home page lately. She posted a statement that she’s working on getting a new photographer, but that one or two series may get skipped. Her forum section went haywire. I think the captain and Porthos are the only ones who didn’t volunteer.”

“So you consider it a part of ‘cultural measures’ to keep up crew morale?”the engineer asked, slightly incredulous.

“Well, in that regard, I’m an opportunist,” Malcolm admitted ironically. “Hess obviously wants to continue with it and it’s hugely popular. It definitely beats me having to organize inane talent shows or some such. All I have to do is hope she finds herself a photographer, and from what you told me, T’Pol and Hess seem to have a clear idea who that should be.”

“Great,” he heard his friend groan. “Now I have three people buggin’ me about it.”

“I don’t get it, Trip. Have you suddenly turned into a prude or something?” Malcolm asked, shaking his head. “T’Pol is okay with it, Hess too, you’d be helping me a whole lot, and most of the crew would be happy.”  

He noted the engineer’s grimace. “Okay, I’ll do it. But know one thing Malcolm. If that shit blows up in my face, I’ll boot your ass out of the nearest airlock .”

“You’re being ridiculous, Trip.”  He downed another gulp of Andorian ale.  “I don’t suppose you want anyone to hold the tripod, do you?”

=/\=

Jon looked around the room as his two visitors were sorting out their reports on their PADDs for the weekly briefing. He’d planned to include Trip as well, but the ship’s engineer was more comfortable ‘doing his thing’ down in engineering, and had put it quite bluntly that he wouldn’t be able to tell him something that T’Pol couldn’t, which is why it would be a wasted effort to come up here for a meeting. The Captain made a mental note discuss that particular issue with him in the evening.

With just three of them attending he had taken the meeting to his office next to the Bridge instead of using the much bigger conference room. It had been over a week of smooth sailing since leaving P’Jem, but with the absence of any fire fights or alien abductions came routine and boredom. And those were no more to be desired than the ‘action packed’ first weeks of their journey.

It had not eluded his attention that T’Pol had ‘coincidentally’ chosen the armchair in which Trip had been sitting when she’d met them for the first time after coming aboard. That this brought her much closer to the corner in which Porthos had established his territory surprisingly didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

“Okay, Commander.” He opened the meeting with a straight look at the Vulcan. “Almost ten days of trouble-free journey is a nice thing, but I hope you’ve found something worthy of our attention?”

“Indeed I did,” the science officer replied, not glancing up from her PADD. “Science teams have surveyed the parts of the Vulcan star charts that Ensign Sato has translated so far. We have located a _Minshara_ class planet four point two-three days from here at our current speed.”

“I take it you have a plan already?”

“The planet in question was surveyed by a Vulcan vessel seventy-eight years and three days ago. No name was given, but the reports mention a humanoid race in an early stage of civilization. I would suggest it would be a worthwhile endeavor to observe it and evaluate their progress over that time period. I am currently working on establishing appropriate protocols.”

Jon debated taking the mickey out of the fact that T’Pol had ‘neglected’ to give the time difference since the Vulcan visit right down to the minutes, but as much as it would amuse him momentarily, his professionalism prevailed. It wouldn’t help in a tense situation if he had cast doubts on his professional attitude just because they had had the luxury of not being shot at for some time. Instead, as she finally raised her eyes to check his reaction to her suggestion, he nodded toward her in a request for additional details.

“Since the civilization is likely not yet capable of warp flight, the possibility of visiting populated areas is dependent on our ability to disguise ourselves as natives. The planet does, however, have a small island continent that is rich in herbal life and was unpopulated at the time of the Vulcan survey. If that is still the case, I wish to send our botanist, Ensign McIllway, on an away mission to chart the flora, and, if possible, to procure new specimens and edible plants for our food provisions. If the conditions in Engineering allow, I’m planning to assign Lieutenant Hess and Commander Tucker to the away team as well. Both have been aboard for almost a year with no shore leave, and Lieutenant Kelby could profit from the command experience when he stands in for his two superior officers.”

“I take it they will also need to take a lot of… photographic equipment?”

Jon felt a slight blush heat his face when the normally somewhat stuffy tactical officer failed to suppress an amused snort and T’Pol looked at him with a provocatively raised eyebrow and a mischievous look – well, as mischievous a look as was possible for a Vulcan.

“Well, there goes my professional image,” he sighed in good-natured defeat, though he was still a bit embarrassed by the subject. “Yes, yes, I have read Lieutenant Hess’ message that she has found a photographer and plans her next edition to be an outdoors one. You have ten seconds to be smug.”

“I see no reason for self-congratulatory behavior on either of our parts, captain. Lieutenant Hess’ publications are a legal and completely voluntarily produced art form. I would consider it a desirable quality in a commanding officer to broaden his cultural horizon beyond what is required to effectively run the ship.”

Now that was a Vulcan piss-take if he had ever heard one, and the implication was clear that to save himself from ridicule, he would have to show at least a token interest in Ensign Rao’s art class as well.

Considering the latest avalanche of – mostly female – inquiries about when the much anticipated topic of ‘classic nude poses’ would become the topic of the day, there were no points in guessing that some of the ladies were quite eager to unwrap the ship’s chief engineer.  Jon found himself wondering ruefully what exactly he’d let his poor friend in for.

“Okay, now that we have properly trashed my professional image,” the Captain continued, trying to hide his still-lingering embarrassment behind a façade of nonchalance, “I hope you have some encouraging news about the measures to uphold the crew morale, Lieutenant?”

“Indeed I do, captain,” the Brit answered, his air so business-like it was hard to remember that the duty had been imposed on him as a punishment. “Ensign Rao has held her first two art classes, and as you might have seen in the ship’s intranet forums, the debate is quite lively, I would say. An Irish and Scottish folk concert is scheduled for the day after tomorrow in the Mess Hall. The request for permission to serve limited amounts of appropriate beverages to off-duty personnel has been filed with today’s batch of reports.”

“Are you trying to say that someone has a stash of whiskey and has not reported the fact to me?” Jon said, feigning indignation.

“The Regulations don’t specify that I have to,” the Lieutenant responded, completely unfazed by the attempt at bantering, and the captain found himself reminded that trying to engage the Brit in a friendly ribbing was as pointless as trying to make T’Pol sing ‘For he’s a hjolly good fellow’. He quickly scratched the last thought; T’Pol had surprised the hell out of them before.

“The ‘stash’ in question has been procured for the Officers’ Mess,” he heard Malcolm continue blandly. “Engineering is currently working with the quartermaster on the interior design, and we believe we can open it in about two weeks. Meanwhile Commander Tucker has proposed a solution for the swimming pool dilemma. He is working on a redundant local system of gravity control and an ejection system that would jettison the water in the case of both systems failing.”

“With people still in it?” Jon asked, only half-humorously.

“No,” T’Pol butted in. “I am working on protocols for the usage of the facility. As soon as increased readiness requires our ‘General Quarters’ to be sounded, the facility has to be evacuated immediately by all personnel. Crew members willing to use the facility will have to attend prior evacuation training. We will not permit personnel to use it who cannot prove that they can reach the sealed safety areas in less than thirty seconds.”

“Evacuation training, protocols, all that for a swimming pool,” Jon said and shook his head.

“I would not underestimate the effect of such a facility on crew morale, captain. If appropriately decorated, the facility would be the closest to a short shore leave we can provide. If the spirited debate among crew members is representative, the potential popularity of it would easily eclipse that of Lieutenant Hess’ artistic work or even the option of producing an accurate likeliness of the Chief Engineer.”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh at T’Pol’s explanation. Seeing the questioning looks of his officers he felt obliged to explain the source of his amusement.

“I’m just trying to imagine Admiral Black’s face when he reads my reports. Not nice making fun of a superior officer, I know, but this is hilarious.”

=/\=

“You wan’ed to see me Cap’n?” Trip asked as he walked into the Captain’s quarters, where Porthos greeted him enthusiastically.

 “Have a seat, Trip,” the captain said, and he accepted the bottle of beer he was offered. “I thought it was time that we had a little talk. I’ve barely seen you all week.”

“Been busy, Jon. We’re still ironin’ the kinks out of the engine, then there’s Malcolm’s Officers’ Mess, and the plans for the pool on top of it all. Oh, and the lil’ one wants to see me from time to time as well. She’s spent most of the week in T’Pol’s quarters and was startin’ to get restless why she couldn’t sleep in my place anymore.”

“The three of you don’t stay together anymore?”

“Too difficult Jon,” he sighed. “T’Lara’s often away during the day. She likes to hang out with Phlox or with Pat in Hydroponics, and during those times T’Pol ‘n me started to find it hard to keep… um… to stay away from each other. Four days ago the shit almost hit the fan. We could barely stop ourselves, havin’ ripped off half each other’s clothes already. This isn’t just some minor problem. T’Pol could be executed if we hadn’t caught ourselves at the last minute.”

“You’re torturing yourselves,” Jon said, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Well, what can we do?” Trip asked miserably. “Of course, we could always make a bee-line for Vulcan and stage a rebellion. I’d be charged enough by now to go for it.”

“‘Charged'’ is quite a good way to describe the crew at the moment,” Jon snorted, as they emptied their beers. “There seems to be an awful lot of undressing going on lately, and somehow you always seem to be a part of it. Did we by any chance hire a nudist crew?”

The chief engineer’s laughter had a bitter tinge to it.“I told you from the start, Jon, that this ‘sex is allowed’ malarkey would turn out to be tricky. Half the guys don’t have much chance to get laid, so lusting over Anna is the next best thing. And just because we have twenty-three women aboard doesn’t mean all of them find a partner, so they can’t wait until Rao puts me on a plinth. This was all bound to happen.”

“We can’t really roll it back, can we?” Jon asked, slightly resigned. 

“Why should we? There’s no problem with Anna’s pictures. She runs her team as effectively as ever, and I pity the fool who tries something funny with her. About me? I’ve spoken to Rao. Her class isn’t some ‘stare at naked people’ freak-show. She takes it very seriously, so the ladies will have to wait a long time until she comes to ‘those topics’, and by then all the people who are interested in her classes for the wrong reasons will have long since dropped out.  And with only people in it who _really_ do it for the artistic value, hell, if they want me naked on a dais, so be it. If I’m lucky, or unlucky, dependin’ how you look at it, I might even get to pose in tandem with T’Pol.”

He chuckled when Jon nearly dropped the bottle while handing it out to him. “T’Pol volunteered to pose for an art class? Naked?”

Trip waved the ‘rescued’ drink with a grin.  “She’s Vulcan. For her it’s logical that if people find out that she doesn’t look that much different than a human, they’ll lose some of the apprehension they still have in dealing with her. You won’t believe it: she even consented to have the pictures or statues of her displayed.”

“Trip, we aren’t running a nudist camp here,” the Captain said in genuine horror; he was now plainly wondering what he’d let the ship in for when he’d appointed his two erring officers to their present posts. “We can’t hang up naked paintings of our science officer or chief engineer on the walls. Was that Reed’s idea?”

“’Course not,” Trip said with a laugh, drowning a good part of his drink. “When it comes to art, Malcolm’s as useless as a white crayon. Rao says there’re some seriously talented people in her class. She wants to set up occasional art exhibitions in the conference room. Malcolm will keep tabs on attendance and only those who’ve shown real interest in all the displays will be allowed to attend exhibitions that display ‘advanced work’. Think about it. Some aspects of humanity’s first deep-space journey will be preserved as paintings and sculptures instead of just films and photos.”

“Are there _actually any_ recreational activities happening that involve all attendees keeping their clothes on?”

“Oh, plenty,” Trip said and counted down the list with his fingers. “The weekend’s card playing tournament cum beer piss-up of Mattes and Kriegel, the folk concert day after tomorrow, Malcolm’s staging a monthly shootin’ tournament – himself bein’ hors de combat, of course, or he’d win the damn thing every time. Hoshi’s teachin’ Vulcan language classes. She’s also offered to do a striptease at the Grand Opening of the Officers’ Mess.”

He’d added the latter on the spur of the moment, just to see the color drain from Jon’s face. Since T’Pol had become friends (sort of) with the young comms officer, Malcolm and Hoshi had often joined them in the Mess Hall and a sort of ‘regulars’ table’ had established itself there, with T’Pol, himself, T’Lara, Anna, Pat, Ri Than, Malcolm and Hoshi. And – of course T’Lara had not been present at the time – Hoshi had talked about her past exploits at STC and the true story behind her suspended discharge.

“Just kiddin’ Jon,” he added, trying to stop his friend from hyperventilating, as this seemed a distinct possibility.  “There’s plenty of stuff goin’ on, but you read only the forum threads that have more than ten pages, and since we’re all only human, well for most of us, a naked Chief, his naked XO or going skinny-dippin’ in the pool is more excitin’ to discuss than the declination of ‘thyne logic’ in Vulcan. Doesn’t mean there aren’t some people interested in the latter, though.”

“This captaining business is messier than I thought,” Jon said drily, and they clinked their bottles together.


	23. Unexpected Discoveries

“T’Pol”?

The captain’s inquiry cut through the silence on the bridge as everyone looked in fascination at the beautiful planet on the main view screen.

“I detected approximately five hundred million lifesigns, all of them are on the northern hemisphere. I cannot detect any EM signals or transmissions.”

“Sounds pre-industrial to me,” Trip commented on T’Pol’s report from behind the engineering console.

“It would appear so,” the Vulcan returned coolly, and he stared at the screen as she increased the magnification. A three-masted ship came into view.

“Looks like an old clipper ship,” he mused.

“Looking at its construction, I would doubt that it is capable of navigating far from the coast,” the Vulcan remarked. He looked over and nodded in agreement.

“Well, that explains why they all live in the North. It’s a long ride down there,” he confirmed, drawing out the word _long_ for added effect.

Only now did he notice the amused looks around him. Jon wore a smug grin and Hoshi and Travis beamed from ear to ear.

“Should we leave the two of you alone for a moment?” the captain teased him.

“Sorry,” Trip muttered as a slight blush of embarrassment crept up his cheeks. He stole a glance at T’Pol, and saw that she also wore a faint look of abashment.

=/\=

“Y’all can stop grinnin’ now,” Trip he said in mild-mannered exasperation. Hoshi in particular had spent most of the morning sending him amused smiles'; and of course she hadn’t been able to restrain herself from telling the entire crew around the ‘regular’s table’ about his and T’Pol’s little private banter on the bridge.

“Joking aside,” Hoshi said. “I’ve never seen anything like that. It was as if one of you knew exactly what the other was thinking.”

“Great minds and all that,” Trip answered with a grin. T’Lara looked confused at all the amusement around the table.

=/\=

He sat the shuttle down on the beach. Hiding it was not necessary after T’Pol’s scans had shown that except for a few hundred harmless whale-like creatures there were no lifesigns in a thousand kilometer radius around the continent. Nothing would have been worse than running into this planet’s equivalent of Christopher Columbus.

On the continent, which wasn’t much bigger than Australia, there was an abundance of lush forests, but T’Pol’s almost obsessively thorough scan had shown no signs of predatory wildlife. She had almost gotten into trouble with the captain, but it was the first officer’s job to sign-off away missions and she had refused to do so before she was a hundred and ten percent convinced that there was nothing down here that was big enough to eat the ship’s chief engineer. Her obstinacy had definitely skirted, if not crossed the line of, letting her private life influence her job.

Despite the fact that they had been instructed to consider their three day stay as shore leave, they had some light work to do. For Pat as the ship’s botanist, this would definitely be a bus man’s holiday. With all sorts of vegetation covering most of the continent, the three days would barely suffice to chart the entire flora and fill the three mobile stasis units that chef had sent with them in case they found something resembling wild vegetables or fruit.

And then there was of course his ‘crew morale mission’ of producing Anna’s next series of pictures. Being a slow male of the species, it had taken him some time to get his head around the fact that T’Pol was having no problems with any potential roll in the hay with Anna. By now he had realized that T’Pol was hurting because she couldn’t be in Anna’s place. Accepting that status quo as the second best solution, she had had no qualms organizing this away mission. But he knew all too well that she wanted nothing more than being here instead of his extroverted XO.  

He was having a luxury problem though. There was no way he could go about the ‘job’ without building up some steam. Anybody who didn’t react to Anna’s body would have to be a straight woman or a dead man, but he could hardly accept Anna’s foreseeable offer to ‘do something about it’ with her better half nearby. He knew Pat accepted it, but there was a distinctly different quality to actually witnessing it.

He liked the slender botanist, who had only recently ventured out of her shell, and he’d rather die of hormonal overload than hurt her.

The engineer absolutely disliked the fact that the women were unpacking the large stasis containers. Well, Anna would have done so anyway, she had more muscles than him, but the far more slightly-built botanist was huffing and puffing under the load. He’d asked Anna to wait until he was done tying down the shuttle, but the girls had dismissed his offer and were already half done unpacking everything.

“Enterprise, we’re all set down here.” He commed the ship to report in, as per standard away party regulations.

“Try to relax a bit, Trip,” came the captain’s reply. “We’ll move orbit to the northern hemisphere. Hoshi’s sent you the coordinates.”

“Got them, Cap’n. Want us to report back in between?”

“What part of ‘relax’ and ‘shore leave’ didn’t you understand Trip? See you in seventy-two hours. Archer out.”

He could hear general amusement in the background. It reminded him of that awkward moment when T’Pol had given him a long range communicator in front of the bridge crew, explaining that the captain had approved it for private use.Of course this was more for T’Lara’s benefit, but Malcolm had mercilessly ribbed him all the way to the launch bay about how his girlfriend was keeping tabs on him.

The main reason for that measure was of course T’Lara. Considering that she was getting restless when she couldn’t sleep in his quarters for any longer period of time, it was to be expected that she wouldn’t be quite happy about not seeing him at all for three days. This way they could at least talk to each other.

Fast learning as she was, the young girl had already learned a good deal of English, especially now that her mind was more at peace. He wasn’t really comfortable that those monks had basically brainwashed her, but the results were definitely worth it as she was now sleeping peacefully and did not remember more than the fact that her biological parents had died during a pirate raid.

“Are you day-dreaming of T’Pol already?” Anna needled him, looking through the hatch. “Pat and I have unpacked everything, you can set up the tents.”

“Comin’ in a minute,” he replied and powered down the systems.

He gasped when he stepped out of the shuttle a few minutes later. All the boxes and bags had been neatly aligned on a large grassy clearing. Anna and Pat were walking towards him – both stark naked. Pat giggled nervously and Anna flashed him a shit-eating grin.

“We’re taking a swim,” his XO told him as they passed by.

He just stood, staring open-mouthed after the two women, who walked hand in hand toward the sea. He had of course expected exactly that from Anna, but that Pat went along with it was unexpected to say the least. This would be a _long_ three days.

=/\=

 “What do we have?” Jon asked as he walked into the science lab, where Hoshi and T’Pol were surveying the population.

“Humanoids, two distinct genders,” the Vulcan reported. “The only outwardly visible difference appear to be two prominent symmetrical ridges on the forehead; however, we did not happen upon any unclothed specimens, so we cannot with authority say that this is the only difference.”

“T’Pol, our nudist contingent is currently vacationing in the south,” he said with a smirk. “I think the quartermaster can whip up some clothes to make us blend in.  And Phlox can handle the prosthetics angle.”

“You cannot take Ensign Mayweather to the planet, however. This species does not have dark-skinned specimens.”

“Do we know anything about them, their language perhaps?” Jon asked with a look at Hoshi, and the young linguist beamed back at him.

“Their language is relatively simple; they seem to have hundreds of dialects, but I worked out a language matrix for one of the larger cities. The universal translator is still experimental, but it should work.”

“Anything we need to pay attention to?” the captain asked.

“Well, they’ll notice that our mouth movements don’t fit the output of the UT, so you must be careful not to speak to their faces.”

“That’s going to be difficult.”

“These people – they call themselves Akaali by the way – they don’t travel much,” Hoshi explained, and held her hand in front of her face. “If you need to speak someone, then tell them that you come from a far away city and that in your culture it is a taboo to talk straight to someone else’s face without holding your hand up like that.”

“Good work, Hoshi,” he said and got another, grateful, smile in return. He turned his attention back to his XO. “T’Pol, what kind of away team do you propose?”

“Obviously you plan to go,” she analyzed dryly. “I would suggest taking Ensign Sato with you as she can speak the language even without the universal translator. Lieutenant Reed can provide security.”

“One more?” he asked. “I’d prefer four people, so we can split up into two teams.”

“In this case it would be prudent to take Ensign Rao. She can study the culture and art of the species. The ensign is also an expert on architecture.”

“Excellent, we’ll do that,” he said and tilted his head to indicate Hoshi to follow him. “Take the Bridge, Commander, and inform Reed and Rao that we’re waiting for them in sickbay.

“Yes, Captain.”

=/\=

Trip muttered under his breath. He would really need to have a word with the quartermaster about coming up with tents that didn’t take almost half an hour to set up.

He was just setting up the big airbed in the tent meant to house Anna and Pat. Considering that the two of them by his estimation had spent the last hour looking at each other’s naked bodies, there was a good chance they’d be in a frisky mood for the night, so he had set up the smaller tent for himself some distance away to give them some privacy.

“Trip are you in there?” he heard Anna ask from outside, somewhere near the tent.

“Yeah, I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Can you look into the green duffel? There should be two bikinis right on the top of the pile for Pat and me.”

He opened the bag, but it looked as if the cargo had shifted somewhat.

“I can only find the bottom pieces. Do you really want me to rummage around in your stuff?” he asked back.

“That’s all we need, silly,” came the laughing reply from outside. He could hear that even Pat was giggling.

What had happened to the shy botanist? She’d been visibly nervous when the two of them had walked past, but by the sound of it, that had been a temporary predicament.

With a slight blush he crawled out of the tent and handed them the skimpy excuses for clothing. Obviously Anna had noticed his attempts not to look at them too closely and she started chuckling.

“Don’t be silly, Trip,” she said, patting him on the back. “Do you really think we’d have stripped down to nothing if we were afraid of you looking? “

“You’re rubbin’ off on your better half,” he teased her back, relaxing slightly.

“Actually I always liked skinny-dipping,” Pat said. “But I used to be so shy I’d blush when I saw myself naked in a mirror.”

“By the way,” he said, pointing at a large, neatly stacked pile of wood. “You whizzed about collecting fire wood stark naked?”

“Why not?” Anna asked, her breasts bouncing as she chuckled. “We are the only people on the whole continent and it’s scorching hot. In fact you better go take a swim too. You’re sweating like a pig.”

 _Challenge issued_ , he thought to himself. While Anna had a point that he was drenched – which wasn’t surprising, considering that even now in the evening, it was still at least 28 degrees centigrade out here – the true reason was, of course, that she wanted to see if he had the guts to strip down too.

He shrugged, removed his clothes and walked off toward his tent to chuck them in there.  But he nearly bowled over when he heard Pat say to Anna: “Hm, nice ass”.

=/\=

They had waited for the night to fall before coming down. Unlike the holiday crew down south they were everything but alone. According to T’Pol’s scans this city had fifteen thousand inhabitants. What it also had were strong Neutrino emissions, which did not fit in with the technological level of this civilization. She had informed them of that fact while they were on the way down.

It wasn’t possible that a civilization that by Earth standards was hardly out of the middle ages would have an anti-matter reactor. There was, of course, the remote chance of a natural source, but T’Pol had dismissed that right away as she said that the emissions were way too concentrated.

The Quartermaster had found an ingenious solution for the mouth movement dilemma as well. Most people in the city wore hooded clothes, somewhat reminiscent of Renaissance era fashion on Earth. The ship’s resident magician, who seemed to be able to produce just about everything in record time, had simply added a sort of veil to the hood, hiding the wearer’s mouth.

Jon began to understand T’Pol’s reservations against going down to populated areas. If this was a warp capable civilization, to which they could introduce themselves openly as aliens, it wouldn’t be a problem that their speech was filtered through a translation device. But these people probably didn’t even have indoor plumbing yet, so this elaborate ruse was necessary.

Hoshi and Mayumi Rao had wandered off toward the center of the city. That would give them the chance to disappear into the crowd and engage in their research while listening-in to the chatter of the locals, perhaps picking up some hints about the strange radiation. Maybe these people knew that aliens were on the planet? It was improbable, but he wanted to make sure of it.  

That left him teamed up with Malcolm for the investigative task of the mission. It was surprising how often the security officer had been in thick of the action lately. Jon had his doubts that Starfleet really knew how important the post of tactical and security officer really was. They used to go for the best of the best when it came to captains and chief engineers, but positions like science, tactical and helmsman were often offered to whoever was on top of the seniority list at the time.

Thankfully they had spent a bit more effort on assembling the bridge crew for humanity’s first deep space mission. Due to his unique history the arrival of Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had been all but smooth sailing, but there was no denying that he had handled the crisis at P’Jem better than any other officer would have done.

The Captain looked around to check for any prying eyes, while his companion took surreptitious scans with the device hidden in the wide sleeves of his cape. They were homing in on the source of the radiation. A sort of shop seemed to be what they were looking for. Thankfully it was in a small side alley with little activity. There was a single hooded figure on the other side of the street, but he or she did not seem to be paying much attention to them.

When they reached the shop they found the door locked.

“Looks like we have to come back in the morning,” Jon said, which got him a quiet snort from his companion.

“There will be a few too many people around then, sir. I’d suggest that we take a look now.”

“Malcolm, unless I’m badly mistaken, we seem to be on the wrong side of this door,” the captain pointed out, a little sarcastically.

“Not anymore,” the Lieutenant said, and politely opened the door. He had picked the ancient lock open in mere seconds.

“Great,” Jon sighed, following his security officer into the building. “We travel forty light years to break into a house.”

Looking around they saw all sorts of curiosities and antiques littered all over the shop. Jon saw that Malcolm seemed to have traced the source of the radiation. The lieutenant pushed a curtain aside, and he followed his junior officer to the back of the shop.

As they reached a second curtain there, the captain pushed the call button on his communicator. This would alert Hoshi and summon her and Rao to the current coordinates.

“Good grief, the neutrino readings are off the meter, sir,” the Brit reported and pushed the curtain aside. “It must be through here.”

Jon reached for the door handle, but a searing pain and a sort of blue glowing around his fingers made him jump back.

“Seems to be some sort of magnetic barrier,” Malcolm theorized.

“Can you disable it?”

The answer to Jon’s question was preempted by a clicking sound from behind them. They slowly turned around, and Jon realized that the noise in question had been the cocking of what looked like a crossbow. The weapon in question was aimed at them by a local female – possibly the owner of the shop.

It was the most inopportune moment for having such thoughts, but Jon thought she was astonishingly beautiful.

“Who are you?” the woman asked. “What did you do to that door?”


	24. Best Laid Plans

Anna had to bite her lip not to laugh out loud. It was just too cute listening to Trip’s talk with T’Lara and his attempts at explaining the situation.

The young girl had pestered him with question after question on why he was sitting around a fire with two women of whom neither were her adoptive mother. Normally not lost for words at the worst of times, the chief had been positively squirming. He could hardly tell her what was planned, and the youngster was curious as to why only three people had been given shore leave and – more importantly – why he hadn’t taken her with him. Looking to the side, Anna could see that even Pat’s eyes were bugging out in her attempts not to snicker.

She knew they’d been a bit mean to poor Trip, as it was obvious that he had been uncomfortable for quite some time with their topless act – mainly because of Pat. He knew her own upper half all too well, but of course he’d never seen her significant other without a shirt. Pat’s usually drab clothing style hid pretty well that, although she was quite slender, her sweetheart had all the right curves in all the right places. On top of that, the ship’s botanist was living proof that ‘expose thyne mammaries’ had a profound effect on men despite the fact that Pat’s boobs didn’t exactly challenge Olympus Mons for size. Her much smaller breasts made up for that with their perfect shape and firmness. Several times Anna had had to fight down the desire to reach over and play with them. That would have to wait until the night.

For the moment, however, the poor chief was off the hook. Sitting around a campfire topless was a bit impractical as the light breeze produced quite a few flying sparks.

“She’ll make a fine wife for someone one day,” Anna quipped with a chuckle when Trip flipped the communicator shut. “She sure knows how to grill a guy thoroughly.”

“Ha ha,” Trip replied with some irony, as he stoked the fire with a branch.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable,” she heard Pat say suddenly. It was just like her sweetie. It had barely been a few weeks since she had started to make friends among the crew and she obviously didn’t want to risk that.

“Don’ worry, Pat,” he said. “Just took me by surprise. I was pretty sure Anna wouldn’t wear much anyway. But you? I still remember you as the shy little ensign.”

Anna smiled when Pat walked over to him and planted a small kiss on his cheek. “I’m getting better thanks to you and T’Pol.”

“So I guess I’ll be a witness to this beautiful spectacle the whole three days?” he asked them both, with a teasing note in his voice, and Anna saw a pronounced blush appear on Pat’s face. She already knew that nobody except herself had ever called her sweetheart beautiful.

“Trip, we want to ask you a favor,” Anna replied instead of giving the obvious answer. “This series of photos won’t be only me. Pat and I want to pose together.”

She could hear him take a deep breath.

“Anna, have you any idea what you’re asking of Pat? There’ll be, like, sixty or more people lookin’ at those pictures.”

“I’m a bit terrified,” she heard Pat explain“But we want to send out the message about our relationship that way. Since the no-frats have been relaxed, Anna is approached by most of the men and some women. And even I’ve had advances made on me. I suppose some guys are really desperate.”

Anna hid her mouth behind her hand, trying not to laugh at Trip’s upset look. The chief didn’t like it when pretty girls were talking themselves down, and her sweetie definitely qualified for that category.

“Pat, honey, those guys weren’t desperate, they just have good taste. You’re a stunningly beautiful girl,” he told her firmly.

Anna nodded her agreement, causing the blush to deepen on her lover’s features.

“So let’s make sure I’m gettin’ it right,” Trip continued. “You want to produce a series that leaves no question about your relationship, so that guys will leave you alone?”

Anna nodded.

“Still, you know people will stare and grin at the both of you when this stuff is published.”

“Trip, they stare and grin at me now, already,” the young botanist said. “It might be a lot more of them for a while, but it will eventually die down and I don’t plan any repeat performances. You are the only one I trust with it, and we’ll never get a chance like this again where we’re completely alone.”

“Alright, girls, let’s get that out of the way first thing tomorrow, okay?” he said with a little sigh. “I just hope you’re really sure what you’re gettin’ yourselves into. I’d hate to see Pat gettin’ hurt.”

Anna grinned when her lover walked back over to him and whispered something in his ear. This time it was the ship’s chief who blushed a hefty shade of crimson.

=/\=

Hoshi looked down at the shuttle’s floor, ashamed by her impulsive reaction. Granted, stunning one of the locals not even an hour after arriving was not the best way to say ‘hello’, but what else was she supposed to do? The woman had had an armed crossbow pointed at the captain and Malcolm.

Bless him, the Englishman had overcome his inherent reserve and put his hand soothingly over hers as they sat in the back of the shuttle, which was piloted by Mayumi Rao. The captain had stayed on the surface to make sure the incapacitated female got back home safely.

Since everyone was obliged to carry identification papers on this planet, it had not been difficult to establish that she had shot an apothecary, and there was a pharmacy close to the shop the captain and Malcolm had broken into.

She looked over at Malcolm and her heart skipped a beat when she saw his gentle half-smile. It wasn’t often that she got to see that. Her worries melted away for a moment.

=/\=

Jon sat back a bit when the woman woke up with a start. If it wasn’t for the fact that they had shot her, he could have really enjoyed watching her beautiful face.

“What have you done to me?” she asked, her voice a mix of fear and anger.

“We haven’t done anything, you collapsed,” he answered, trying to put on his best ‘soothing voice’. After all, they wanted to get some information rather than scaring the locals, an aim in which, at least in this case, they had failed miserably.

“That’s the second lie you’ve told me. You are not very good at it,” the woman said reproachfully and sat up. Jon helped her, as the stun blast had left her weakened. “Did Garos send you? Are you working for him? And why do you hide your face?”

That was quite a number of questions, and the captain knew he had to play his cards right – and that was not purely a professional feeling. Her dark brown eyes were beautiful, but at the moment they looked at him in anger.

“Garos?” he asked cautiously.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about do you?” she accused him. “He’s the owner of the shop you broke into.”

“I’m not working for anyone,” Jon said, shaking his head. “I just wanted to make sure you got home alright.”

“If you don’t work for him, what were you doing in there? And you still haven’t told me why you hide your face.”

She tried to reach for the veil, but the captain evaded her hand.

“There’s something strange going on in that shop,” he explained vaguely. “I don’t know what, but I want to find out. I’m an investigator from a far away city. As for my face; where I come from it’s taboo to speak to another person’s face directly. Don’t worry though, that taboo doesn’t apply to you.”

“Which city? Who sent you?”

“I can’t tell you more than that, not right now.” Jon evaded answering with another head-shake.

“I suppose telling me nothing is better than just another lie,” she replied sarcastically, and his heart cramped, seeing her beautiful eyes still full of reproach, fear and anger.

But at least she hadn’t pointed another weapon at him, though there was one lying on the table within reach. It was a start.

“My colleague is waiting for me,” he explained, prying himself from looking into her eyes. “You said something about an illness. I want to come back tomorrow to talk about that. Will you be here?”

He saw her nod, and as slowly as possible he headed for the door, unable to take his eyes off her face.

“You haven’t told me your name.”  She was watching him in what seemed equal fascination.

“Jon.”

“Jon? Just _how far_ _away_ is this city?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead he slid out of the door and headed for the woods, eager to contact his ship.

=/\=

Trip was sitting on the beach, the remnants of the campfire still burning before him. He was drawing stick figures in the sand, when he heard footsteps approaching – it was Anna.

The noises from the bigger tent had been too faint to make sense of and he hadn’t really listened in, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that the occasional moans and squeals meant that his XO and her better half had had a good time. If nothing else, the fact that the approaching woman was stark naked gave away the ‘secret’.

He saw her sit down next to him, but he continued his work.

“Did you make her do this photography thing?” he asked in a ‘by-the-way’ manner of speaking.

He felt her arm being wrapped around his shoulder.

“You are just too sweet, Trip,” she said, and he felt a light kiss on his cheek. “Pat likes going topless as much as I do, but until a few weeks ago she’d never have done it. Not with anyone but me around. And she still only feels comfortable around a man because it’s you. You totally made her day when you said she’s a cutie.”

“Well, she is,” he insisted.

“I know,” he heard her say with a mooning grin. “Since she became part of your crew she’s changed. We meet up at Hoshi’s from time to time for a three-girl topless card playing evening. You guys aren’t the only ones who like Mattes and Kriegel’s Skat tournaments. I bet you, Pat would whip the pants off some of the regulars in a competitive tournament. She’s incredibly good at bluffing.”

“Wouldn’t I love to witness that,” he said with a chuckle.

‘The crew’ referred of course to the occupants of the ‘regulars’ table’ in the mess hall: a group of people – a group of _friends_ – that included a Vulcan, her adoptive daughter and a botanist who wasn’t-quite-as-shy-anymore by the look of it.

“What are you drawing?” Anna asked.

“Workin’ on a few poses for tomorrow,” he answered, still continuing his work. “I can see that Pat’s hell-bent on going through with that plan o’ yours, but she’s also scared out of her mind. Tryin’ to work out some poses that look sexy, but in a way that spares her having to show much. She’s got a cute little butt and folks will have to make do with that. You like to flaunt it, but she doesn’t. I think I can choreograph some poses to hide her boobs.”

He could hear Anna gulp next to him. When he looked over he saw that her eyes were moist.

“You’re the best, y’know that?” she said, her voice breaking slightly. Giving him a light kiss on the lips, she stood up and walked back to the tent.

He wished her a good night and continued his planning, using the time as long as the small pile of charred wood was still burning. Something told him that Anna had had the same idea and that was why she had come back out again.

=/\=

As the first light of the day appeared on the horizon, Jon was crouched down behind a bush in the forest, talking to his officers on the ship. An impromptu meeting had been called after his return from the woman’s attic. As he waited for Hoshi and T’Pol to arrive in the meeting room, his thoughts went back to the woman – Rianne – whom he had left three hours ago; it felt like an eternity already.

 _That was another one they’d forgotten to put in the Captain’s handbook: Never, ever, fall in love with an alien woman on an away mission. It will break your heart when you have to leave,_ he thought morosely.

The faint voices of T’Pol and Hoshi sounded over the com link as the two women arrived in the command center. Jon forced his attention back to the job at hand; after all they had a mystery to solve. What was happening behind that door in the antiques shop?

“Even if we flatten the building with a torpedo barrage, I don’t think it will even make a dent in that energy field.”

The captain rolled his eyes. Leave it to Malcolm to see shooting at it as the first option. For someone with a background as an operative, he sometimes had a poor grasp on subtlety.  But then, he did so love explosions.

“Keep the sensors locked on that building. As soon as you notice something, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That woman, the apothecary, said something about people getting sick,” he went on, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible as he addressed the new arrivals.

“I think we might have seen some of them,” Hoshi replied. “They had mottled skin and lesions on their faces.”

“If we could get one of those people to the ship, Phlox might be able to tell us what is happening to them,” he heard Malcolm suggest, but the lieutenant was quickly corrected by the ship’s first officer.

“I would advise against that. If I am not mistaken, the fear of alien abduction has caused a great deal of apprehension on Earth for centuries; the people of this planet may have similar anxieties. I would suggest investigating the shopkeeper first.”

“Agreed,” Jon decreed. “Lieutenant, have Phlox restore your makeup and meet me here. Travis can fly you down. And make sure you don’t fly over populated territory.”

=/\=

They walked up to the shop to check out the owner. Since they had to suspect that whoever ran that antimatter reactor was not really an Akaali, they couldn’t go with the cultural cover story for their veils. They had to go in with their faces showing. At least the myriad of antiques made it possible to browse and talk when facing away from the shop owner.

“Welcome gentlemen, if I don’t have what you are looking for, I’m sure I can find someone who does,” the middle-aged shopkeeper greeted them with the phony smile that seemed universal to salesmen around the world. Like the Captain, Malcolm put on an aloof mien and started browsing the shop’s offerings, leaving the talking to his superior officer for the moment.

“We’ve seen antiques in the shop window,” he heard the Captain say. “My friend here is an amateur collector.”

“Do you look for something in particular?”

Out of the corner of his eye Malcolm saw the shopkeeper hurry past John, so he had to do the talking lest they gave away their secret prematurely. He took a wooden mask off its hook on the wall and held it up, feigning interested inspection.

“This one is interesting,” he said, trying to sound as though he was taken with it but attempting to conceal that fact.

“You won’t find a more varied collection in the entire city,” the man insisted. “That piece is the pride of my collection.”

 _Of course it is,_ Malcolm thought sarcastically. He held the mask up so it hid his face from the shop owner as he faced him. “Who is it supposed to be?”

“Draylan, the mythical ruler of the afterworld,” the salesman said with a surprised and slightly inquisitive undertone, and Malcolm knew that their cover wouldn’t hold water much longer. Apparently they should have known this, but Hoshi hadn’t come quite that far in her cultural research of the locals.

He could see the raised eyebrows on the captain’s face as he studied the scanner he’d brought out from among his clothing, and was hoping that it meant what he thought it did.

“You’re not from this province, are you?” the shopkeeper asked him. A slight suspicious tone had now entered his voice.

“No, and neither are you,” the captain interrupted. “Your DNA doesn’t match any other life form on this planet.”

Malcolm reached into his pocket, unlocking his phase pistol. After all, if this man had an antimatter reactor he certainly also had weapons that went beyond throwing stones. With their cover blown they could at least bin the whole facing-away spiel now.

The captain’s accusation was proven when the shop keeper produced a scanner of his own.  Malcolm immediately drew the phase pistol from his pocket, making it clear to the alien that he better not try anything funny.

“Neither does yours,” the man threw their accusation back at them. “Now I see why you have a fondness for masks. Who _are_ you?”

Seeing that the alien had pocketed the scanner and presented his empty hands, Malcolm secured and stored his phase pistol. The stranger was evidently no keener than they were to have his cover blown should one of the locals enter his shop, and for the time being at least he seemed harmless.  Though that might change, and if it did, Malcolm was ready to deal with him.

“I’m Captain Jonathan Archer of the Starship _Enterprise._ We’re explorers from the planet Earth.”

“Earth? I never heard of it,” the alien wondered. “How did you know that I’m here?”

“How about picking up the massive neutrino emissions from the antimatter reactor in your basement?” Malcolm snorted sarcastically. “It is a bit conspicuous on a world that hasn’t even invented the steam engine, wouldn’t you say?”

“Now that you know who we are, maybe you can tell us what you are doing on this planet,” the captain demanded impatiently. They didn’t have too much time. This conversation would be over as soon as one of the real Akaali walked into the shop.

“I’m an explorer as well – at least I _used_ to be,” the alien explained with the fakest grin the Brit had seen in a long while. “Two years ago I led a survey mission to study the Akaali. We had no plans to remain here, but after a few months I found myself quite taken with these people, so I decided to stay.”

 _Not even your grandma would believe that line of bull_ , Malcolm thought to himself.

“If you enjoy the simple life so much, why do you have an antimatter reactor in your basement?” the captain asked.

“There is nothing nefarious about it, I assure you,” the alien lamely tried to allay their suspicion. “The reactor powers a fabrication device that allows me to make food and clothing.”

“And it doesn’t have anything to do, _whatsoever_ , with the illness that is spreading among the locals, I presume?”  Malcolm didn’t even try to hide his sarcasm. Years in the section had taught him to smell a rat from three miles out, and that man reeked mightily of rodent.

“I see you’ve met our apothecary,” the stranger said with an equal dose of sarcasm. “She’s been making baseless accusations against me for months. There is a lethal virus spreading among the Akaali, but it’s indigenous. I certainly didn’t bring it here. Unfortunately these people don’t have the medical technology to cure it, so this woman blames the newcomer – me.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to take a look at this reactor of yours.” The captain’s words weren’t exactly a demand, but the tone in which they were spoken very much suggested that he didn’t care much if their host _did_ mind. At that very moment, however, the shop door opened to admit an elderly Akaali male. Knowing that he was off the hook for now, the alien ushered them towards the door.

“Perhaps some other time captain. Excuse me.”

“Damn and blast!” Malcolm swore under his breath when the shop’s door closed behind them.


	25. I see what you don't see

Trip woke up to the feeling of cold water dripping on his feet. Looking up he saw that Anna had poked her head into his open tent. She was dripping wet and stark naked. Obviously she had just come back from a morning splash in the ocean.

“Hey, get a move on, sleepy-head,” he heard her say with a chuckle. “Make yourself presentable, will you? Pat and I will prepare breakfast.”

He rubbed his eyes, looking after Anna as she walked away. Seeing her well defined muscles and the firm butt, he wondered how he was supposed to be taking lots of pictures of her without ending up with a very visible manifestation of male arousal. Well, if Pat’s zinger of yesterday was anything to go by, the girls did expect exactly that, and a cure was planned as well.

With a slight sigh he pushed the thought back and his Bermuda shorts down. Since clothing was evidently optional around here, he wouldn’t give Anna the chance to tease him relentlessly by wearing swimming trunks and besides, he’d been a skinny dipper all his life anyway.

Walking towards the ocean he heard the giggles and ‘encouragements’ from Anna in the distance. For all the clowning around, he was serious about this ‘job’ though, and it kept his thoughts occupied. Pat was taking quite a plunge in attempting to pose with her better half. There was no way he’d let that be a wasted effort.

Anna was an exhibitionist at heart, he thought to himself as he dived forward into the waves. She got a kick out of knowing that some guys were lusting over her naked form, but her significant other didn’t, and he had spent half the night thinking up poses that would leave Pat’s important bits covered or hidden, without making it too obvious that that was the thought behind it.

And then there was the main goal behind the inclusion of the young botanist. The pictures should convey that they were two women in love without descending into pornography. _I could really have chosen an easier debut as a photographer,_ he thought in amusement as he swam away from the beach.

=/\=

They waited until a random pedestrian was out of earshot before leaving their hideout behind the bushes. Jon had sent Malcolm back and had Travis deliver Hoshi instead. His plan called for some finesse, not the gung-ho attitude of his clearly irritated tactical officer.

Hoshi could speak without having to hide her face, which made things easier and would give a bit more credibility to their ‘from far away’ cover story. The young ensign could easily put on a slight accent while still speaking the proper language.

He knocked at the door of the pharmacy and preceded Hoshi into the main attic. It wasn’t very gentleman-like, but he thought it was better if the apothecary, whose name he still didn’t know, saw him first instead of yet another unknown face.

“Hello again,” he said with a smile that was well hidden behind the veil of his hood.

His hostess answered his greeting and came straight to the point by inquiring about the identity of his companion.

“Her name is Hoshi,” he explained. “She’s helping me investigate Garos’s shop.”

“Riann.”

In exchanging greetings with his communications officer the pretty woman had finally given away her name and to him it sounded just beautiful, but then, he wasn’t perhaps the most objective observer at the moment.

Everything about her was beautiful really.

=/\=

Trip felt a light knot develop in the pit of his stomach as he helped Pat clean up after breakfast. Anna had gone into their tent to put on a light makeup. As if anyone would be looking at her _face_ should the pictures come out the way he envisioned them! And that was giving him a problem already. Merely envisioning them threatened to cause a very visible reaction, so the real deal certainly would be a very special form of torture.

And Pat’s whispered suggestion from the day before – that she thought it would be worth testing out just how much more enthusiastic Anna would be at pleasuring her when her better half was being had by the chief engineer at the same time – left little doubt what the two ladies had planned for the party after the job was done; and therein lay his worry.

Pat insisted that she was perfectly accepting of Anna’s having fun on the side with men (specifically, him), and he was perfectly inclined to believe her. But the young botanist was so grossed out by male genitalia that she wouldn’t even use a strap-on or a vibrator on Anna. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Pat was always looking away when confronted with the sight of his naked front, which was the reason why he only dropped the pants for the morning splash in the ocean.

How would the young girl react to the raging hard-on he’d be bound to get during the photo shooting, even if it would be ‘hidden’ by a pair of Bermuda shorts? And how would she cope with _seeing_ him pound her better half instead of just knowing it was happening? Granted, with Anna going down on her, she’d probably be well distracted, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it could end in heartbreak.

Anna’s significant other must have had noticed his moping and she brushed down the tip of his nose with the back of her index finger.

“What are you moping about _now_ , Trip?”

“Not sure about your idea of a threesome,” he admitted honestly. “I’d hate to have worked half night to make the photo shooting as little stressful as possible for you, only to hurt you myself by grossing you out.”

To his surprise she started to laugh, hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You are too sweet. You don’t gross me out, only your… thing, and that’s my problem, not your fault. You can hardly chop it off, can you? And Anna would be really cross if you did. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t sure I can handle it. Just enjoy it and stop worrying. You’re spoiling it for yourself.”

With that, she walked away towards the girls’ tent.

=/\=

“Enjoy your tea,” Hoshi whispered with a grin as she disappeared out of the door to bring back the results of her various scans to the ship. He closed the door, thinking about the last hour.

Riann’s pharmacy looked more like an alchemist’s lab to be honest. All sorts of liquids were lazily boiling in flasks over open flames and evidently one of those had been water. All the time he had thought he was helping her make some sort of pharmaceutical experiment, when in reality she had him make this planet’s equivalent of tea. But at least he had now a damn good excuse to spend a few quiet hours with her.

“You are no Akaali, Jon,” Riann said calmly as she handed him a cup with the hot drink.

“What makes you say something like that?” He feigned incredulity.

“Your false ridges are coming off,” she replied, casting her eyes upward to hold his glance while tranquilly sipping her drink. “Your friend Hoshi seems to speak our language well, but she has an accent. You don’t have any accent, despite saying you are from a faraway city. I would say you come from one of the many stars in the sky. And if you can travel that far, you must have technology that enables you to speak our language, or at least make it appear so.”

He didn’t offer any resistance when Riann bent forward and removed the veil from his hood. He was too stunned to offer any reply. This civilization might be living in the equivalent of Earth’s ‘middle ages’, but the woman before him had a razor-sharp mind, which made her even more attractive and irresistible.

“Your face looks much better like that,” she said with a little smile, still showing no signs of being shocked by encountering an alien on this world. Instead she started reattaching the loose prosthetic ridge with a sticky substance she took down from one of her numerous shelves.

“How long have you known?” he asked in faint embarrassment, seeing that she immediately recognized the mismatch of lip movement and speech.

“I knew something was wrong when you presented me with that strange story of it being a taboo to speak without hiding your mouth. When this illness broke out, I travelled to all known areas on this world, trying to find out if someone understood what happens here. I didn’t only fail to find someone who could help me; I also never encountered any such taboo.”

He shook his head ruefully.  “There’s no point in me denying it, is there?”

“No, Jon, there isn’t,” she agreed, and to his utter shock she edged closer to him. “Is _this_ known on your world?”

He gathered her in his arms as he eagerly returned her kiss. His mind was still screaming at him not to fall in love any further, but the point of no return had long been passed.

=/\=

Somewhat nervously Trip made the final adjustments to his photography equipment.

The camera was mounted on a tripod. Its spikes kept it steady on the grassy underground. Most of the photos would be taken on the beach and in the water. The latter especially would need a telephoto lens, as fixing the tripod in the loose sand of the beach was nigh-on impossible.

The subjects for his photographic début walked up to him chatting happily, still clad in identical bright red bikini bottoms and standard issue Starfleet shirts. He took one last long cleansing breath before they would come near enough to hear him sigh.

They came to stand in front of him and looked into his face with expectant smiles. Even Pat seemed less nervous than he was. It was time to get it over with. He never thought that having two gorgeous women pose naked for him would feel so weird.

“Okay, girls; shirts off,” he instructed, trying to hide his insecurities behind his ‘professional’ persona.

In a heartbeat the shirts were off, but when Anna hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the skimpy garment, he quickly added that the bikini bottoms were meant to stay on – at least for the time being.

“We’ll start with a few topless shots,” he explained, his uneasiness starting to settle at seeing that Anna and Pat seemed quite comfortable. “We need to show Pat from the front in some pictures or it’ll get too obvious.”

He saw the flinch of uneasiness on the young botanist’s face. She probably thought she’d have to show some boob after all.

“Alright, Pat you stand on the beach, facing the camera,” he instructed. “Anna, you stand directly behind her, half a step to the left, so that one boob is showin’.”

It felt definitely weird to give directions like that, but he had a pretty good vision of what he was trying to achieve. He’d seen her previous photo publications, and her previous photographer had often crossed the line of vulgarity. Anna had obviously been okay with that, but he wasn’t. There wouldn’t be any straight pussy shots if he could help it.

Anna and Pat were beautiful women and Trip wanted the pictures to highlight the beauty of their bodies. Producing cheap ‘wanking material’ would have been easier, but it wouldn’t do them justice and he was not prepared to waste his time on cheap titillation.

“Okay, Pat, now reach back and put your hands on Anna’s cheeks,” he explained and the young woman did so. That gave her upper body a beautiful stretch towards the back.  “Anna, you hug her from behind, cupping her breasts.”

He snickered at the enthusiastic acquiescence with his instruction. Pat looked up into Anna’s face lovingly and he was moved by the unmistakable affection their looks conveyed. Thankfully it worked as Pat was significantly shorter than Anna. If anyone wouldn’t get the clue from this picture alone, he’d probably need to have it bashed home with a steel rod. Anna surprised him the most. He had never seen such a passion in her eyes, which more often than not were rather filled with mischief and glee – when she wasn’t on duty, of course.

“You may kiss the bride now,” he said, his voice going weak as he got a little emotional over the picture, and he could see that the women were in the same ‘predicament’. Their lips met, and what started out as a gentle kiss soon escalated into a full-force tongue wrestling match.

“Shit, this is hot,” Trip muttered to himself after taking the first series of pictures, seeing that Anna and Pat had forgotten everything around them. What he had hoped to prevent was now on full display – a very visible manifestation of his arousal. He re-arranged the situation by pushing the treacherous organ sideways and fastened the waistband of his Bermudas a little tighter. It was uncomfortable, but he could live with that. 

“A-Anna, I hate to interrupt,” he stammered. “But I think y-you should stop kissin’ the bride now.”

“Spoilsport!” his XO complained, breathing hard with arousal. Considering that one of her hands had already been in Pat’s bikini bottom, he doubted this would have stopped without any intervention. In fact, since the camera was in ‘rapid fire’ mode, there were several pictures with Pat half-exposed as Anna’s hand was already between her better half’s legs. Those wouldn’t make the final cut for obvious reasons, but who knew, they might fancy them for themselves.

“Okay, this is what I have in mind for the next one,” he explained while the girls thumbed through the pictures on the camera’s small screen. “Anna, you sit down on the beach, Pat behind you, hugging you around the waist. She’ll rest her chin on your shoulders and you both close your eyes dreamin’ about something. You’ll have ta lean back into her as she’s a good deal shorter than you.”

“This still on?” she asked back, tugging at the waistband of her bikini bottom.

“This still on,” he confirmed. “If your previous photographer thought it was neat to have people stare right into your pussy that’s his problem. I want these pics to look beautiful, not vulgar.”

To his surprise he found himself at the center of a double-pronged kiss-to-cheek attack.

“I knew it was the right idea to ask you,” Pat said happily, and joined her better half in taking up the requested pose.

=/\=

“Stay here,” Jon said and went after their attacker.

They had spent the last two hours in hiding waiting for the nightly transfer of crates. Now, not only had they witnessed that Riann’s observation was true, they had also seen that whatever was in those crates was wheeled to a forest clearing and collected by an alien shuttle pod. They had not been able to scan what was under that shop, but whatever it was, it seemed to be something the aliens of Garos’ species were very eager to collect and take home.

Carefully moving from tree to tree, seeking cover as he went along, Jon tried to locate the alien, who had only just missed them, and by the narrowest of margins.

“Jon!” he heard Riann call out, and seeing her point upwards he directed several stun blasts into the tree top without even looking. Loud rustling of leaves and branches followed, and moments later the stunned alien hit the ground with a loud thud.

“Don’t worry, he’s not dead,” said the captain as Riann rushed to his side.  The guy hadn’t fallen that far, and had landed on relatively soft turf.  None of his limbs had twisted under him, and his spine looked okay; he might have a headache when he woke up, but that was the least of Jon’s worries.

“Jon.” She addressed him with a serious look. “No more lies.  Did these people merely arrive before you? Are they taking from our world what you were seeking as well?”

He shook his head emphatically. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

“If your ship can travel to so many stars, why did you come here?”

“To meet you,” Jon replied.

“Me?”

“Not you personally, although that feels like the best thing that ever happened to me,” he explained with a gentle smile. “We wanted to meet your people. We’re explorers.  We’re out to meet as many different peoples as we can.”

“But we are so backward in comparison to your people…”

“If you take away our technology, we’re not that different,” he said, taking all sorts of equipment and weapons from the unconscious alien. A Mallurian, T’Pol had called them in the latest report about Phlox’s findings.

“Your people kiss better,” Riann said with a slight blush, and Jon’s heart skipped a beat when she returned his smile.

“We should check out the shop,” he said, forcing himself with a bit of an effort to concentrate on the job at hand.

=/\=

“Girls, we need to repeat that scene,” Trip said when the girls came back from staging the ‘splashing naked in the ocean’ scene. “Anna, I told you to face me with Pat facing you, so that she’s mainly shown from behind. I didn’t get a single one without her showing more than planned.”

“Do they look bad?” the young botanist asked as he handed her a towel. She dried her hands and took the camera from him to look through the pictures on the camera’s small screen.

Anna was standing behind her looking over the shoulder of her lover as the two women inspected the latest series of pictures. Trip was amazed by the transformation in Pat. Just a few weeks ago she was known to everyone as the mute, shy wallflower and here she was standing next to him stark naked, and showing no signs of uneasiness whatsoever.

“That one,” Pat declared. “It’s mostly some side boob and a hint of nipple, I’m fine with that. It looks too good to throw away. We’ll keep the others for ourselves.”

“You sure?” Trip asked.

Pat nodded. “I’m actually feeling a little brave. Let’s try something before I change my mind.”

Trip saw her whisper something in Anna’s ear and the two women walked off towards a nearby fruit-bearing tree. Anna crouched down and hoisted Pat up so that the slender ensign came to sit on her shoulders. Facing him they took posture in front of the tree.

Pat’s groin was hidden by Anna’s neck, but her bare chest was plainly visible, fully frontal. Pat reached up to pluck a fruit. He started the rapid fire sequence of the camera’s shutter. This one was special as he could see Anna getting a bit weepy over her better half’s sudden bout of ‘bravery’. Pat’s transition from being holed up in her shell to opening up at least to ‘the group’, their regular gang at the lunch table was nothing short of miraculous and it obviously had a profound effect on his XO.

“Alright, we have it,” he said. “Twelve poses should be enough. It’s a bit shorter than your normal series, but I think it came out well.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” Anna snorted trying to hide her emotional state. “I’ll buy T’Pol a year’s supply of meditation candles or whatever Vulcans are happy about. I’m so glad she convinced you to do it. If that doesn’t beat all the other series, I don’t know.”

“Well, if you like it then I did my job okay,” Trip said with a lopsided grin, sitting down to hide his raging and by now almost painful erection that hadn’t gone even with him concentrating hard on the technical and artistic aspects of getting these pictures done as good as possible.

 “Now, Pat and I’ll start the fun part of the day,” Anna said with a mischievous grin and pushed her better half on her back on the beach, wiggling her behind provocatively in his direction. “Get those Bermudas off your ass, I’m not a patient person.”

Trip put the camera aside and shook his head, tugging at the strings of his Bermuda shorts.

This was simply _unreal._ But there was no way he was going to say no, was there?

 


	26. Scientific Experiments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Pol goes for broke and the results are... um... enlightening...

T'Pol sat in her quarters, knowing that what she was about to attempt was not entirely professional conduct, at least not the Vulcan variety. But she had long since abandoned her attempts to adhere strictly to what Vulcan code of conduct demanded and had more or less adopted Human rules of conduct, and her plan was perfectly acceptable among humans, if perhaps somewhat badly timed, considering that she was the ranking officer with Captain Archer being on the planet. On the other hand, Lieutenant Reed was more than capable of commanding the ship and with Captain Archer apparently preparing to engage the Mallurians in a fire fight, he was perhaps even the better choice for guiding the Captain.

She eyed the small packages on the table and was still balancing the pros and cons of her plan. It was all Charles' fault, of course. As had been pre-arranged, he had uploaded the pictures they had made for transfer into Lieutenant Hess' gallery, while those images marked 'private' were to be encrypted and saved in the Lieutenant's private storage. Charles had apparently been most diligent in cataloging the images, but apparently he had not re-checked them before uploading, else he would have known that he had missed to catalog one picture – the last one.

In fact, she suspected that this image had been taken accidentally due to a programming mistake on his behalf, as it could not have been taken by him, seeing that all three officers were visible in it. What she had seen, had shocked, confused and intrigued her at the same time.

The Vulcan science officer had always suspected that Lieutenant Hess and Ensign McIlway would use a synthetic facsimile of a phallus to mate, but according to the picture, the Lieutenant was actually using her tongue to stimulate the Ensign's genitalia. At the same time she was penetrated by Charles' phallus, but apparently not her vagina. The picture clearly showed that he had inserted his genital into the Lieutenant's anus.

The shock mainly resulted from the fact that she actually _saw_ Commander Tucker mate with another female. It had been one thing to know and accept it, seeing it was an entirely different sensation. Her shock was even bigger due to the fact that she wasn't discomforted by the thought, in fact it had aroused her to see him pleasure the Lieutenant. Since Charles' second in command was probably the only other female on the ship with breasts that were comparable in size to her own, she found it surprisingly easy to mentally exchange the likeness of Lieutenant Hess for her own.

And that was what had piqued her scientific interest. Why had Lieutenant Hess decided to be penetrated rectally? Her own childhood memories of taking medicine rectally, usually suppositories, did not register the insertion of even a small object into her anus as a particularly agreeable sensation. The obvious choice would be that there was no chance to being impregnated, but a dose of contraceptives from Phlox could easily serve the same purpose.

Asking Ensign Sato for advice was entirely unacceptable in this case. The young human female had been a trustworthy adviser in many topics pertaining her difficult relationship with the ship's chief engineer, but speaking about matters of sexual contact was simply not something she could imagine speaking about publicly. She had come close to doing so with Lieutenant Hess and her mate, and she remembered it as a singularly uncomfortable conversation.

Thankfully the Humans were much more forthcoming with information about matters of intimacy and the publicly accessible portion of the medical database contained large amounts of information about sexual practices among humans. The sheer amount of different sexual techniques the humans had developed had almost been overwhelming and the emotions they invoked ranged from intrigue to downright disgust. It seemed as if there was hardly any part of their bodies that humans would not involve in one facility or other to stimulate an intimate partner.

The technique employed by Lieutenant Hess was apparently called “Cunnilingus”. Instinctively, as a scientist, she had wondered if the etymology of the term had something to do with the profanity “cunt” that she had heard being employed by some of the less tactful crew members when referring to female genitalia. However, that thought had lingered for mere moments before it had been pushed to the back of her mind by the overwhelming urge to devise a way of learning if Charles would be willing to perform such a technique on her.

Of course any thought of engaging in sexual relations with Charles would expose her to the risk of being persecuted for having mated with someone else but her childhood betrothed, even though said betrothed had mated with a different female several times by now, and according to the Eldest Mother, was desiring to be bonded with her. However, one of the many things she had learned from her human ship mates was, that if there was a rule, there was a way to circumvent it.

Although she had no more intention to marry Koss than he had to marry her, the authorities could easily subject her to a medical scan that would easily reveal whether she had mated or not. T'Pol had never understood, why her species, which was so intent on safeguarding each others privacy, allowed such indiscreet measures to exist. Therein, however, lay the 'loophole' as humans routinely called a way to side-step a law or regulation. Until finding those entries in the human database, for her the term 'mating' had always amounted to the act of vaginal penetration for the purpose of inseminating the female. Considerations like sexual stimulation, and therefore alternative methods of achieving such, did not exist in the highly structured world of her species.

Since Vulcan females possessed an equivalent to a human female's hymen, prior mating was easily detected by a medical scan, and it was not difficult to determine if it had been a female's betrothed or husband, who had ruptured it.

However, considering the multitude of techniques that humans had developed to engage in sexual relation without penetrating the female's vagina, there was a whole selection of activities available that she could practice with Charles, while a medical scan would still suggest she had never mated before.

“I love science,” Charles' voice reverberated in her mind, and she was momentarily confused. She had imagined Charles' voice before, but it had never sounded so clear and life-like before.

-=/\=-

 _That girl has a problem, a big one,_ Malcolm thought to himself as he leaned back into the captain's chair. He could only imagine what a pre-industrial society would make of a phaser weapon being discharged. A bright beam of light appearing out of thin air and making an oil lamp explode, according to the captain's report, was bound to bring up fairy tales of the woman having the 'evil look' or some such silliness. At least the blast had taken out the remaining Mallurians.

“How's the status Captain,” he inquired, after contacting the away team. “The signature and radiation from the reactor seem to be gone.”

“I have taken it offline, quite permanently in fact,” the captain's voice sounded over the com link. “I doubt our chief engineer would have approved of the methods I employed, but we don't have the time to make it neat. There's a mob outside, and they are literally carrying torches and pitchforks. I'm afraid we'll have to risk a matter transport.

“I take it that involves your companion, too?” Malcolm asked, signaling Hoshi to order Kelby to the transporter alcove. Being able to converse in sign language was an awfully convenient thing in such situations.

“We have no other choice, Malcolm. She would not survive a single day if we left her here.”

“Kelby is on his way, standby for evacuation,” Malcolm replied.

-=/\=-

T'Pol had to table her plans and waited, operating the transporter console. She had ordered Lieutenant Kelby to relinquish control of it. Risking the use of the experimental matter transporter was a sign of an emergency situation and the large risk of the captain or his alien companion to die due to a malfunction were too large a responsibility to be imposedon a junior officer, no matter if he was willing to accept it or not.

She almost heaved a sigh of relief, when the bodies of Captain Archer and the alien female materialized on the platform. The female however was screaming in terror and only calmed down when the captain had gathered her in his arms. Even to T'Pol it was obvious that the two individuals before her were strongly attracted to each other.

“You should visit Doctor Phlox,” she suggested, using a hand scanner to check the two, fortunately unharmed, arrivals. “Our guest is clearly distressed and she has been exposed to substantial radiation. She should urgently be brought to decon, as should you, captain. You were also exposed to strong radiation.”

She accompanied the captain and their unexpected visitor towards sickbay.

“Heard anything from the vacation group?” the Captain asked.

“The… non-standard part of their schedule has been concluded and Ensign McIlway has started to research local Flora to determine which plants, fruit and vegetables could be used to replenish or augment our food reserves.”

She answered the Captain's knowing smile with a raised eyebrow.

“I have taken the liberty of having T'Lara delivered to join the away team. She has grown quite attached to Commander Tucker and was showing signs of distress over his prolonged absence.”

Again the Captain smiled, no doubt amusing himself with thoughts of what a profound impact Charles had on females of all species and age. Had she been human she would probably have shared the sentiment, if it wasn't for the fact that she knew that her chosen was probably more than distressed by now. She could just hope that his two female companions could alleviate his almost inevitable self-reproach.”

-=/\=-

“What's the matter with you, Trip?”

Anna sat down next to him as he emptily stared into the remnants of the campfire.

“Is that so hard to understand?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “When she was brought aboard, she was half-naked and she was raped by humans – male humans! She shouldn't be seen _completely naked_ by any human male ever again.”

“Sorry to be so blunt, Trip, but you are completely irrational,” Anna said and to emphasize her point she tapped his forehead with her index finger. “Considering that you're hopelessly in love with a Vulcan and have a Vulcan adoptive daughter, you should really update your knowledge. Being naked is a complete non-event for Vulcans. They consider their body a mere shell for their soul. In fact they think it is completely illogical to wear anything when taking a bath. So where the hell is your problem?”

“I just feel like a complete weirdo, going into the water with a naked girl. She's a kid, 'fer chrissake.”

Anna snorted. “Jeez, Trip, have you ever been to a beach? Pat and I are willing to help, but you can't leave it to us to take her into the water. She's starting to wonder why her adoptive dad, whom she loves a lot by the way, is suddenly acting so strange around her. Of course she'd rather chop a leg off than admitting it, but she was looking forward to spend time with you. Instead you run off and hide as soon as she strips down to go swimming.”

“I'm being an idiot, aren't I?” he sighed in defeat.

“To be brutally honest, Trip, yes you are. Liz Cutler told me what kind of ridiculous dresses they were in when coming aboard, and I can understand that you were shocked when seeing that she was still a kid. It's not exactly difficult to tell if a girl is adult or not, especially if she's effectively topless. But you're still beating yourself up over it, despite the fact that that was the least of her problems, because Vulcans basically don't give a hoot. Now, Nadya is suffering, but she's human. T'Lara isn't. Get that into that thick skull of yours. She needs you, and you've been avoiding her. That's much worse for her than whatever those monks wiped from her mind.”

-=/\=-

It was perhaps the least surprising piece of news ever, T'Pol thought. Seeing the abundance of crystal clear, blue water from orbit, T'Lara had expressed an interest in bathing. Unfortunately, as every Vulcan, she would not even consider to wear clothing, as it was completely illogical to be dressed for a bath or a shower. Inevitably that would cause distress for Charles, who had so far always left the premises as soon as T'Lara needed to change clothing.

The reasons were not hard to determine, considering that human males were programmed to react in certain ways to the sight of an unclothed female body. He was consumed by irrational fear that he could experience unbidden signs of arousal, and, like most species, humans considered desiring children or ones own offspring an abomination. Ensign Sato had explained that many human males experienced that sort of distress if they had female offspring, especially when said offspring started to mature, but she had also assured her that parental instincts would usually preclude any unwanted arousal. Apparently Charles didn't trust his parental instincts, despite the fact that he had accepted the role of a surrogate parent with much more ease than she had done herself.

The short communique from Lieutenant Hess had confirmed her fears, but the human woman also insisted that she had 'set him straight', which Ensign Sato explained as Charles having been convinced of how illogical his thoughts were. According to the letter she had received from the surface, Charles and T'Lara were finally sleeping, with the child being afforded to be in the desired physical contact with her adoptive father, although Lieutenant Hess had amended, that, of course, he had enforced the presence of nightwear, despite the high temperatures.

It was however an agreeable compromise. Although Vulcans usually didn't wear any clothing in bed, after all the nights where the only time on their planet when they were not exposed to oppressive heat, Charles would probably never overcome the instinctive discomfort at being in physical contact with his adoptive daughter while undressed. Unlike for Vulcans, nudity simply had too many sexual connotations for humans due to their evolution. T'Pol made a mental note to explain that fact to T'Lara upon her return, as she didn't want the child to unwittingly offend the human member of their small family.

The thought of being a family reminded her of the aborted experiment. Although there was no doubt that both she and Charles wanted to spend the rest of their lives in each others company and were more than willing to be adoptive parents to T'Lara, there was the simple, yet disagreeable fact, that so far she had deemed herself unable to fulfill her desired mate's needs without risking her own life. This experiment would have to show if she was able to engage in sexual relations without doing so as far as Vulcan science was concerned.

She opened the box that rested on the table in front of her and for several moments she stared at the synthetic phallus that humans, quite fittingly, referred to as a 'vibrator', as the device started to vibrate when being activated. The logic behind this wasn't really clear to her. After all, although the device was quite realistically shaped like a human penis, if somewhat smaller than what she had seen Charles being in possession of on the unwittingly taken picture, he would certainly not vibrate if engaging in intimate contact. At least there had been no mention of such a phenomenon in the human database. For the sake of scientific accuracy, she decided to assume that Charles would not be subject to vibration and that she would conduct the experiment with the device's function being deactivated.

T'Pol checked her scientific notes one last time. Having revisited the parts of the Vulcan database that were not accessible for her human shipmates, not even the captain, she had determined that, although anal penetration was unknown to Vulcans, it should theoretically be possible to ease tension using the technique as the Vulcan perineum, at least in females, contained two neural nodes that were effective in easing emotional control and hormonal imbalance. Granted, Vulcan science presumed that those neural nodes were stimulated from _outside_ the body, but there was nothing to suggest that it wouldn't work if the stimulation came from inside her anatomy.

Human texts had been quite unambiguous in their insistence that a lubricant be used before engaging in anal intercourse, so she generously coated the device and her own sphincter with a substance called 'Vaseline'. She suspected that this particular technique of sexual contact was still attached to some sort of stigma, even among humans. How else could it be that there were protocols in place that allowed the acquisition of the substance and a synthetic phallus in such a way that not even Lieutenant Reed and his security department would ever be able to determine, who had made the purchase?

Lying on her side, T'Pol pressed the device against her anus and using the superior muscle control Vulcans possessed, she relaxed her sphincter muscles, allowing the device to slide into her body with much less complications than was alleged in the human texts. However, nothing had prepared her for the sensation that the device caused, once it had penetrated her body. Vulcans were usually trained to suppress unknown sensations instinctively, but the almost debilitating jolt that went through her consciousness, when the tip of the device brushed along the neural nodes in her perineum was beyond anything she could even begin to suppress.

A low guttural moan escaped her mouth as the device slid deeper into her rectum and the Vulcan knew immediately that there was no way to stop what she had started without complete intimate relief. The human texts, which under the influence of such strong and unfamiliar sensations where hard to recall, had spoken of offsetting the inherent pain of anal penetration by stimulating the female's breasts or clitoris. Knowing that her breasts were somewhat sensitive to touch, she used her second hand to stimulate her nipples and the added stimulus was threatening her coherence. Although she operated the synthetic device herself, her mind was projecting images of Charles pushing his phallus into her and T'Pol started to moan even louder.

-=/\=-

“What the fuck?!” Trip hissed, looking at his groin in disgust. He could feel the familiar heat of a massive blush on his cheeks as Anna and Pat were trying not to laugh hysterically. They both failed abysmally. Thank the heavens that T'Lara was not around to see this indignity, having a midday nap in the tent. For no reason whatsoever, he had developed an erection, despite the fact that, unlike most of the time, Anna and Pat were actually wearing bikini bottoms and a shirt.

“Jeez, help the poor man, will you?” Pat cackled in Anna's direction and turned to leave. Not even his guilt, knowing that for whatever reason Pat was grossed out by male genitalia could lessen Trip's ridiculously painful erection that had come out of nowhere, and why was his ass tingling?

Anna had barely wrapped her lips around his steel-hard rod, when Trip cried out and came so hard, it almost hurt.

-=/\=-

Oblivious to the crisis on the surface, T'Pol shivered uncontrollably in the aftermath of the first orgasm she'd experienced in her life.

For reasons she couldn't explain, the experience had not only been more than agreeable, she had also felt as if there had been some indiscernible external stimulus. For what it was worth, her scientific experiment had been more successful than she had ever imagined.

“I am ready to receive you, _ashayam_ ” she whispered breathlessly before consciousness abandoned her mind.


End file.
